#gonna put in the effort to read more fics

[lrithill]

Pookie has a Cold (Art x gn!Reader)

Hi everyone!

Finally, I can offer you a new fic as tribute (I've been dying to share it).

I’ve been Missing In Action for over a month without giving you a single fanfic because I was drowning in university exams… so I’m sorry for abandoning you all. BUT my exams went really well (huge thanks to everyone who wished me luck—it seriously worked, the power was real), which means… the upcoming fics are gonna start dropping like hotcakes.

This fic came to life because an anonymous reader requested some domestic stuff with Art (you can read their request here). I know they also mentioned Pale Girl—I just couldn’t find a way to include her this time, because the dynamic with just Art and reader worked sooo well here for me. Buuuut… there might be a second part coming, and I definitely think Pale Girl would have a very interesting role there. 👀

Either way, I LOVE domestic stuff, so don’t worry, dear anon—you’re gonna get more than enough of that here, all delivered with love and clown kisses. 💋🤡

Okay, with that said, let’s get to the good stuff:

💙 Synopsis:

Art has a cold... POOR THING! HE’S A BABY… BABYGIRL HIM!😫

⚠️Warnings:

Excessive fluffiness, Art being the whiniest spoiled baby ever, you needing infinite patience (and possibly wanting to rip your hair out), consequences of sick Art: fever, snot, endless honks, pharmaceutical epic, soup, shower (it might get a little spicy in the shower, but it’s blink-and-you-miss-it).

📊Word count:

4,000 words.

With all that said… enjoy! 💌✨

1. Clinical interview

This is the last time you let Art leave the house without an umbrella.

The genius—he seems to have an actual phobia of those things—could be facing an Amazonian downpour and still wouldn’t think of putting one in his—more than spacious—trash bag.

And now, you have to pay the price of his anti-umbrella crusade: endless Kleenex, soup duty, and honks every five minutes.

Knock, knock, knock.

You tap gently on the door, the tray wobbling in your hands—you take a deep breath, steeling yourself… with Art, you just never know.

You open it—slowly—as if you’re about to unleash some ancient eldritch creature and… you were ready for anything—but definitely—, not this.

Art, wrapped in blankets like a Roman emperor watching his empire burn: vacant stare, horn pressed solemnly against his chest—the tragic flower atop his deathbed.

Drama level: Art.

“How’s my poor, little, sick, sick clown?” you greet him with a smile, approaching the bed to cheer him up.

He doesn’t even blink—deep in his Black Plague victim performance—life dramatically draining from his eyes… any minor effort might just finish him off.

“It’s just a cold, my love…” you murmur, sitting down next to him. “This is nothing to you,” you reassure him sweetly.

Art shakes his head. He raises a trembling hand and points at the nightstand; then lets it drop heavily and dramatically, as if the mere act might make his arm fall right off his body.

A piece of paper.

“Oh? Already signed your final will and testament? Let’s see what it says…” you tease, half-smiling.

You read:

“I regret nothing. I’d do it all again. (Except for the umbrella. Fuck that umbrella.) And as my final wish… I want to be taxidermied.”

You lower the paper.

“For obvious reasons, right?” you add, sarcastically.

Art nods, rolling his eyes, before wiggling his eyebrows—yes, for very obvious reasons.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, interrupting his… thoughts—taking his hand.

Honk!

He instantly snatches his hand back and presses it to his chest—as if your gentle touch had stabbed him through the heart.

He gives you the saddest puppy eyes ever.

“Oh! Your body hurts, doesn’t it? I guess I’ll have to give you a pill for that,” you whisper, a little bit worried.

Art swallows…hard. His expression changes in a split second—pills are not his thing.

“It’s not a big deal, honey. You’re going to survive this,” you soothe him gently, as if you were trying to calm a particularly dramatic toddler.

Art shakes his head, blank stare up at the ceiling—slowly, tragically—as if he were watching his entire life play in slow motion before his eyes.

I don’t deserve to die like this… The rain was my most worthy rival, he laments in his delirium, fully immersed in his fever dream.

Exaggerated. Yes—but your heart melts: clearly, he’s not used to being sick. Nothing serious, but for him… it’s the apocalypse.

You lean in and kiss his forehead, reminding him you’re here to take care of him.

“Oh, Art… you’re hot,” you notice. “I should check your temperature.”

Art winks—sick or not—he wasn’t going to let the joke slide…

You grab the thermometer from the nightstand and stick it in his ear.

50 degrees.

“ART!” you shout, convinced he’s about to die right there.

But he’s laughing.

Cheater…

You touch his ears: they’re burning hot.

“You were rubbing your ears, weren’t you? You almost gave me a heart attack,” you scold him, pointing accusingly with the thermometer. “Well then… drop your pants.”

Art turns pale—this caught him off guard. He slowly rolls over and starts unzipping the back of his suit like a scolded child...

“Hey, no! I was joking, my love. I can take it orally,” you reassure him quickly before he moons you.

He raises his eyebrows, finally understanding—relief flooding his face.

You place the thermometer in his mouth and wait for the beep.

37.5 degrees.

“Well… just a mild fever—”

You don’t even get to finish—Art launches himself into your arms, hugging you like it’s his last day on Earth—a lost soul desperately clinging to life.

Oh God… what am I going to do with you… what’s coming next? Let’s pray it’s just a 24-hour virus, because I am not surviving a full week of this, you think as you hold the sobbing clown against your chest.

“Shh, shh… it’s okay… it’s okay…” you whisper, gently stroking his head to calm hin down.

2. Lunch time!

You glance over at the tray still sitting on the nightstand. Maybe Art is hungry; maybe some food will distract him from his endless melodrama.

“Look, I brought you some food,” you say, proudly revealing a covered plate like you’re presenting a Michelin-star dish.

Art’s eyes light up—the first genuine smile of the day… and it vanishes just as quickly.

The smile dies the moment you lift the lid.

Soup.

He looks at you. Looks at the plate. Looks back at you. Then the plate again. His face drops to a level of seriousness usually reserved for kids birthday parties—dead serious.

“What is this, a joke? Because it’s not fucking funny. I’ve thrown up things that looked more appetizing.”

He doesn’t even need words—his eyes say it all—the sheer, soul-deep disgust is palpable. Maybe a death threat or two crossed his mind as well.

“I know you were expecting a big juicy steak, my love… but this will do you good, okay? You need nutrients.” You say it in your sweetest voice, silently praying he’ll cooperate.

Art stretches out his arm and points dramatically at a calendar on the wall, wearing the expression of a martyr about to be executed.

“Yes, I know it’s July, and yes, it’s hot… but it’s for your own good. It’ll just be a moment, and then you can have whatever dessert you want,” you promise, using your best hostage-negotiator training.

You scoop up a spoonful and bring it to him.

Art crosses his arms. He eyes the spoon warily, and as it gets closer, he leans back inch by inch—his frown deepening more and more.

“Here comes the plaaane…” you coo in a baby voice.

The spoon smacks into his firmly shut lips—you push, wiggle, search for a gap, try to sneak it in… nothing. Mouth on full lockdown—you end up tapping around his corners like you’re trying to find a secret entrance.

You pull the spoon back, disappointed but not giving up. You are patience incarnate.

“Okay… let’s try something else…” you think, a lightbulb flickering to life. “Here comes the angeeel…!” you sing out.

Silence.

His expression changes instantly. His eyes glaze over for a moment—clearly imagining Sienna entering his mouth.

The spoon slides in—no resistance. In fact, he almost seems to lunge for it—eager.

“Hey! Careful! Don’t break the spoon with your teeth,” you joke, laughing.

Art finishes the whole plate shockingly fast—far more obedient than expected.

You bring him a well-deserved reward: a nice cold ice cream (you didn’t even bother offering fruit—what’s the point?).

3. Medicine time!

“Well, now it’s time for your pill, sweetheart,” you say, handing him the pill and a glass of water, as if you’re about to deliver the final boss fight.

Art looks at the long white pill in his hand as if it were cyanide—with a fearful expression—like he’s doubting himself, like he’s mentally preparing for battle.

He looks up at you—shakes his head—defeated already.

“Art, it’s just a quick gulp, no fear,” you say, handing him the glass of water like a coach handing water to a rookie before a big game.

He nods—snorts—preparing for the worst, and raises the glass.

He starts to drink—

“No, no! Love, pill first, then water,” you stop him before the genius turns the whole operation into a splash zone disaster—making a mess and drenching everything.

He’s nervous—don’t judge him.

Art nods again—then spits the tiny bit of water he had already sipped back into the glass…

And now, finally—

He puts the pill in his mouth…

Drinks the water…

You wait for the magic moment: the gulp.

GULP

Eureka! It worked—!

Puagh…

The pill reemerges, perfectly intact, lying in his palm—his huge puppy eyes locked on you, the pill glistening pathetically in his hand.

I’m weak, his eyes confess.

“Darling… Don’t look at me like that… Come on, you can do it, I believe in you!” you encourage him once more, summoning all the patience in the universe for your spoiled, overdramatic clown.

He hesitates—then gestures with the pill, silently begging if you can cut it in half… because it’s way too big for his very delicate throat.

“Art… I’ve seen you shove things into that mouth that had no business fitting… unhinging your jaw like a damn snake,” you plead, exasperated.

He puffs up his chest, eyes laser-focused on the pill with a sudden burst of heroic determination.

Now this is it—

Pill.

Water.

GULP

…

He struggles—fighting an internal war—and then…

Puagh

Tragedy...

There’s no other way, you decide to end his suffering—you cut the pill.

That’s it. Mercy.

“What am I going to do with you…” you sigh. “You’re such a baby,” you add as he finally manages to swallow the second half.

He laughs.

At least he’s in a good mood (fingers crossed it lasts).

4. Check-up.

Once this pharmaceutical epic finally concludes, you start gathering the tray, the plate, the dessert, the thermometer, the pills…

And then you notice Art opening his mouth—way too wide.

Way. Too. Wide.

Oh no no no…

TAKE COVER.

As fast as a soldier diving into a trench, you grab the blanket and lift it over your head like a medieval shield.

ACHOO!!!

A ball of green, purulent snot splats against your blanket defense—with the force of a medieval catapult.

“Well, you sure store up a lot of snot in that big nose of yours,” you say, handing him a tissue, still hidden under the blanket—just in case there’s a second attack. “You could’ve aimed literally anywhere else but at me, you know…” You finally lower the blanket once you confirm the coast is clear.

Art blows his nose so loudly—a motorcycle sounds like a gentle purr in comparison.

Jesus, you can’t even stay mad at him; he’s too cute, too helpless. You can just feel sorry for him.

“It’s okay, my love,” you say, caressing his face, apologizing for scolding him. “But still… now I think I need to wash these slimy sheets,” you add, eyeing the mucus blob that nearly became a facial.

Art nods; even he thinks it’s pretty gross.

And speaking of gross things…

“Since I’m washing the sheets, I think I should also wash your suit…” you suggest, side-eyeing him.

Art gives an exaggerated shake of his head—almost personally offended—his suit is perfectly fine (totally not covered in a day’s worth of nose wiping, nope). He puts up his palms as if to say “That’s enough!��� like he’s directing traffic.

“Let me smell—”

UGH…!

“God, Art, you smell like a broke nobleman’s jester! Not only do I have to wash the suit, but you need a shower… urgently…” you say, almost stumbling backward. “Luckily, I already filled the tub since I was about to shower myself,” you continue. “Anyone who came near you would think you’re a giant skunk sprawled here… Art the skunk,” you mock him.

Art hears this… and that’s it. He grabs a pillow and starts smothering himself with it—pretending to suffocate—he’d rather die dramatically than take a bath and hear this nonsense.

“Pookie! Listen to me!” you yank the pillow off his face. “I brought you a surprise…” you whisper, half-smiling—hooking his curiosity.

Art’s expression shifts immediately—suddenly focused, like a kid at a magic show.

“I brought you a bath bomb!” you reveal the legendary reddish object in your hand.

Art’s eyes light up instantly.

A BOMB?! Now that’s promising.

Art jumps out of bed instantly—like a kid on Christmas morning (apparently, he’s not sick anymore). His dirty clothes go flying—straight into your face, blinding you— and in the blink of an eye, he snatches the mysterious object from your hands—vanishes with it—as if you had never even held it in the first place.

He bolts out of the room, and you immediately chase after him to the bathroom—struggling to keep up with those ridiculously long clown legs.

Every heavy stomp… is a red flag. You start imagining every possible scenario of how this could ruin your plan.

“Art, wait!” you shout from behind. “You have to—”

PLOP

That unmistakable sound hits your ears just as you cross the doorway.

Art stands frozen like a statue, stuck in the exact pose he dropped the bomb in—an empty smile on his face, dead eyes, a single tear sliding down his cheek—as he watches the bomb dissolve into thousands of tiny bubbles.

No fire… no explosions… no glorious destruction…

At least it worked to get him up and into the bathroom, you tell yourself.

You lock the door—just in case…

5. Shower time!

“Stinky little baby…” you sing while wetting his head. “You need a shower…”

Art stares off into the abyss as the water runs down his face—the very picture of despair and betrayal.

“Stinky little baby… You smell real sour…” you keep going.

Art notices the bubbles still floating up from the now reddish water—and starts playing with them.

Pop pop pop

He pops them in the air, fully distracted—even tries to catch one with his mouth.

“See? It’s not so bad, right?” you say, watching him play. “Do you like the little bubbles?”

The moment he hears this, Art immediately crosses his arms, frowns—shoots you a look of pure, murderous disdain as the water flows down his face.

No.

Clear and absolute.

“Stinky little baby… You stink like pee and poo,” you finish the song, giving him a playful boop on the tip of his nose—and blow a handful of bubbles right into his face. “You’re a filthy baby,” you giggle.

He shuts his eyes and sticks out his tongue at you—full-on brat mode, like a sulky toddler.

You grab the shower gel and squeeze a generous blob onto the wash mitt.

Time to scrub the filth away.

You start scrubbing his arms, his chest, his neck, his ears—can’t forget the ears. You lift his legs out of the water to wash them too, the feet—absolutely crucial.

Art tries to yank his feet away the second he feels the mitt—turns out the Miles County Clown is ticklish, who would’ve thought?

“Hold still, love, I’m trying to wash your stinky feet,” you say struggling against the water, as if you were caught in the waves, as he flails around, kicking at the air like a dying insect.

Finally, you’re satisfied enough to release this squirming human cockroach.

Art is left gasping for breath—you reward him with a little kiss.

Truth is, he’s behaving better than you ever expected.

You keep scrubbing under the water—his stomach, his thighs. This time, instead of retreating... you feel Art pushing against your hand—actively searching for friction.

Especially every time your hand gets close to his… well, you know.

Suspicious.

“Art… You can’t be horny if you’re sick…” you scold, catching onto his little attempts.

Art rolls his eyes.

You’d be surprised, he thinks.

He smirks and splashes water at you playfully, soaking your shirt—it sticks to your skin immediately, outlining your figure.

Art licks his lips—eyes locked on your nipples poking through the wet fabric.

You see it in his eyes—you jump back quickly before he can grab you like a crocodile and drag you into the water with him.

His immediate reaction: Puppy eyes—big, glimmering, manipulative puppy eyes. Lower lip pout included.

Such a schemer...

He wants you to come back.

And the worst part… is that he’s absolutely going to win.

He grabs your hand and guides it right back underwater… urging you to keep going—a sly, dangerous smile spreading across his lips.

“Well… I guess I have to wash every part of you…” you say, giving in to his demands, biting your lip—seductively.

Let’s just say… maybe you washed those parts a bit more thoroughly than strictly necessary…

6. Getting cozy

“Look how nice my clown smells,” you say while helping him dry off. “You don’t smell like a sewer clown anymore—now you smell like a flower garden clown.”

You kiss him on the lips—he’s earned it.

It’s getting dark and a bit chilly—you don’t want Art running around naked too long, or he might actually get sicker. You decide to bring him back to your room.

You pull out his pajamas… the ones you made yourself, modeled after his original suit, since you discovered Art refuses to wear literally anything that isn’t his own clown-coded fashion.

It’s not exactly the same… but it works for moments like this, when his beloved suit needs a wash.

You help him put it on and tuck him into bed like a fussy mom.

You admire him.

“Ohhh, look at my handsome clown!”

Honk! —a playful honk.

“His pajamas look sooo good on him!”

Honk! —he covers his face with his hands, batting away your words shyly, blushing behind his palms.

“My cute little pookie baby!”

Honk! —he switches pose, now lying on his stomach, feet kicked up in the air, one finger on his lips—posing like a pretty, demure lady.

“He’s so tiny!”

Honk! —he immediately hides under the blanket, curling into a tight little ball.

Stop iiiit, he thinks—all flirty and bashful.

Now that you’re satisfied with your clown fashion show, you decide to finally go downstairs to grab the clean sheets—like you promised.

You turn around, head to the door, hand on the handle, open the door, and—

HONK

You spin around.

“What is it now, honey?” you ask.

You see Art gesturing toward his head.

“Does your head hurt? Do you want some ice, maybe?” you guess.

Art shakes his head… only to immediately nod after (he can't forget to keep playing the terminally ill patient role).

But then he points again, more precisely this time—to the left side of his head.

“Oh! You want a little hat? Is that it?” you finally get it, a lightbulb going off.

Art nods, rolling his eyes—like, finally, it wasn’t that hard to figure out.

His usual little hat is in the wash with the rest of his suit… so you rummage around for a regular sleeping cap you had stashed away somewhere.

You find it and hand it to him; Art snatches it and puts it on immediately—a king needs a crown.

“Better now?” you ask.

Art smiles proudly and gives you a thumbs-up.

“Great. I’m going downstairs to get the sheets, I’ll be right back,” you explain.

You turn around, head to the door, hand on the handle, open the door, and—

HONK

You sigh, forehead pressed dramatically against the door frame—he is absolutely doing this on purpose now.

You turn back again, with your best forced customer service smile.

“What now, honey?” you say as sweetly as humanly possible, trying to sound gentle, though your eye twitches... just slightly.

Thumb to his lips, pinky sticking out—water?

Palms together in front of his face—book?

Points to the TV—remote?

Forms a bowl with one hand, mimics shoveling imaginary food into his mouth—snacks?

Mimes pulling an invisible rope with one hand while the other stays outstretched—chainsaw? (Well, at least that part is normal.)

“Okay, okay… I think I got everything,” you say, absolutely overwhelmed but trying to keep it together. You get it—he’s planning to camp here for days and needs all his survival supplies.

Art claps enthusiastically, followed by rapid, impatient finger snaps.

"Hurry up!"

7. Bed time

You return with everything: a giant jug of water, a bowl of assorted snacks, a book you figured he might enjoy, his beloved chainsaw… and on top of it all, the sheets draped over your shoulders and head (you look like a giant, overgrown ghost).

You set the snacks on the nightstand along with the book, plop the jug on the floor next to the bed, and place the chainsaw right on the bed so he can cuddle it like a deadly teddy bear.

You hand him the TV remote, and tuck him in perfectly, like a pampered little, stuffed burrito—cozy, warm, and snug.

Art looks deeply satisfied with his royal treatment—he stares at you expectantly, waiting for your final words of praise—perhaps a kiss on His Majesty’s hand as well.

“Well, I think I’m done with you. You’ve been a very good clown today, my favorite patient,” you say, sitting on the edge of the bed. “If you need anything, I’m just a honk away,” you add, doing the 'call me' hand sign—half-laughing, half-dying inside.

Art nods, solemnly.

You give him a sweet kiss on the lips before finally standing up.

“You’ll feel better tomorrow, sweetheart. Get some rest and close those beautiful, bloodthirsty, murderous eyes,” you say softly, completely exhausted.

You turn around, head to the door, grab the handle, open the door and—

Honk honk…

You turn back yet again, the patience in your body officially on life support.

You look at Art—he’s staring intently at the floor.

You look at the floor.

His horn.

It’s fallen.

Art lazily stretches out his arm toward it—it’s literally inches away. He could easily reach it himself… if he weren’t in full baby mode.

He looks back up at you now.

I can’t, his big, watery eyes plead.

Alright, you think, sighing internally.

You walk slowly toward the bed—you feel his eyes fixed on you, tracking your every step like a shark.

You bend down to pick up the horn, look up to hand it to him and—

IT’S A TRAP.

Art jumps on you with the blanket in front of him, trapping you like a sack—a makeshift straightjacket—you thrash and squirm against the fabric, but it’s useless. You can’t see a thing, and you’re trapped like a pig in a hunter’s net—wrapped like a holiday ham.

Art lifts you off the ground effortlessly and tosses you onto the bed, still wrapped in your silky prison—he immediately starts tickling you, leaving you zero chance to fight back or even guess where the attacks are coming from.

A little revenge for the shower tickles.

But eventually, he seems satisfied—the merciless tickling slowly turns into gentle kisses and tight, warm hugs…

Finally, he sets you free—you pop your head out, gasping for air, as he leans on you, still not letting you move—pinning you down like a heavy, overgrown cat.

“God, Art… you almost gave me a—”

He makes a “shhh” gesture with his finger, telling you to be quiet.

Not that complaining would make any difference.

Art slides off you, settling right by your side—resting his head on your chest, his entire body melting into yours.

And then it hits you.

The water, the snacks, the book… they weren’t really for him—they were for you—, he planned all of it just to trap you, to make sure you wouldn’t leave his side.

And you realize that—despite all the soup, pills, and pep talks—what he really needed most was just you… Your time, your patience, your love—that was the real medicine.

It wasn’t all the effort you put into taking care of him, but the time you spent with him—that was what really made him feel better.

You shift slightly to get comfortable, thinking for a second about turning on the TV… but honestly, all you want is to pass out right here.

“Sleep, honey… I love you,” you whisper, planting one last soft kiss on his forehead.

Sleep quickly takes over both of you, and you drift off in a warm, tangled embrace. Your final thought before slipping under:

I’m 100% catching this cold. Tomorrow, I’ll be the one whining in bed, and he’ll be my nurse.

Oh no…

✨ Thanks for reading all the way to the end! ✨

I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did—I genuinely found it pretty funny to write (my psychiatrist probably won't find it as funny though, oops).

Honestly, I feel like this fic is perfectly wrapped up as it is, BUT—like I mentioned in the intro—if you guys want a second part where the roles are reversed (with the Pale Girl too, maybe), just say the word and I’ll make your wishes come true — I’d be more than happy to (even though I have a long list of requests waiting for me).

With all that said… I’m off for now! Don’t forget to leave a like or a comment—it’s literally the only way I can know if you want me to keep feeding you more of my delusions imagines.

Thanks for everything, and see you in the next Artventure. 🎪💛

[thebiggestfuckgiven]

About Pariah Dark...

The year is roughly 352 B.C.E.

One ordinary day, a mother was bathing her young son in the river. She turned her back for only a moment when a sudden cold current swept the child away. He spluttered and cried, but the force and speed of the river was too much for even a mother.

He bobbed over and under the water continously. The world blurred around him until it could only be distinguished by air he could breathe and water he must not swallow. There was nothing he could hold onto.

On and on it went until the water rushed out like a desperate breath out into an enormous expanse of blue. The poor child, after spinning through seemingly endless swirls of the deposit, finally distinguished land from water. His small arms, however, were not strong enough. The river had pushed him out too far, and the current was picking him up again.

He did not know for how long he was floating in that large expanse of blue, letting the current drive his small body. Every now and then he would catch glimpses of heavy, dark trees in the distance. Too far. Eventually, he grew too tired to open his eyes. His energies were only only enough to keep breath within him. His skin, even in the starlight speckled dark of the night, felt hot. Like he was being cooked from the inside, and then from the outside during the day under that suffocating sun.

A sleep deeper than he had ever felt in his short life was overtaking him when many probing, pulling hands wandered all over him. A jumble of voices crowded his hearing, snippets of words he should've been able to understand were simply too far away, too strange, for him to understand. He slept just as the water finally peeled away from his burning skin.

(A/N- this is lore for my DPxDC fanfic How I DIDN'T Become a Villain, but! it works just as well for Danny Phantom only stories. Full story under the cut.)

Young Bhavin was swept away by a river and deposited into the ocean, what is now known as the Bay of Bengal. The current took him from his home of Magadha in North India and all the way to Tamilakam, Chola in South India. He knew his name and the name of his home, but the people who found him did not recognize it as they had never traveled that far north.  

So, he stayed, and was raised as part of the Paraiyar.  

When he was older, the question of where he came from became a huge hollow inside him. One he feared would never change, for the jungle was dangerous and the waters were treacherous—he knew that his survival all those years ago had been a miracle gifted by the gods themselves.  

There came a day, however, when Fate struck again. Bhavin had been out fishing for his village, but he had strayed too far from the coast and a distant storm drew in faster than he had anticipated. At the ocean’s mercy yet again, the currents dragged him further than he’s ever been. Further north than even his birth home, he was found along the coast by a wandering tribe of Celts, who had come from the west with their children to keep them safe from Alexander’s war path. In stilted and accented Sanskrit, the Celts told Bhavin they hoped to find haven beyond the mountains in the uppermost region of India. To Bhavin, it was a call from the gods. To survive the ocean’s raging tempest a second miraculous time and be given a path back to his true home? He must have a great purpose awaiting him.  

He joined them on their journey. With the little Sanskrit the leaders knew, and what little Bhavin remembered from his youth, they were able to get along well enough. They told him stories, of their tribe and their culture and religion. It was with them he first learned of the mysterious figure, one they called the Observer who seemed to watch over them fervently as though a distant and ancient ancestor. Their tribe revered this figure very much and Bhavin was enraptured by its mystery immediately. They also told him stories of other lands, places with buildings so white they reflected the sun’s light like it was their own, and others with structures so tall they seemed to reach the gods. They spoke of the stories hailing from those otherworldly lands, too. But in each one Bhavin heard, he found the Observer there, hidden under a different name and a different time. It was as though he couldn’t escape it.  

He asked all he could of the Observer. The more he learned, the less he knew, and the contrariness of it all shook him to his core.  

Then, after a long and arduous journey, they made it past the mountains to India. Though greeted with generous hospitality at every village and kingdom they went to, they quickly learned that many of those kingdoms were at war with one another. Some defending themselves, others trying in bloody conquest. Bhavin marveled resentfully at what so many of these kings did with their power.

This was supposed to be his true home, yet it did not seem like the one he dreamed of as a child. He'd dreamed of happiness, of unity and commonality.  

As Bhavin spiraled further into his obsession while confronting the bitter reality of his world, he found his solution. The Observer itself. This wasn’t a mere guardian; it was a being of great power. Only something like the Observer, the one thing connecting them all, could create harmony. A place where everything existed under one single power.

And after dedicating decades to this study, Bhavin finally found a way to summon the Observer.  

The day came, and before him stood a mere child. A little boy with big, fearful eyes.  

The sight flooded Bhavin with an overwhelming sense of power and indignation. He challenged this great, unfathomable being and won with little fanfare. He wrought the ‘crown’ from the child’s head—a simple, wooden circlet—but when he placed it atop himself, the power turned out too much for any living creature to bear. The crown drowned him flames, in a heat not dissimilar to the one that should’ve killed him in those ill-advised waters. 

His obsession became him, now evermore twisted and suffocating.  

Bhavin was dead.  

So was born Pariah Dark.  

...

Pariah Dark’s rule influences thousands of worlds with his greed of conquest and unquenchable thirst for power. Countless wars dawned at his will; countless lives lost in his shadow.  

Imprisonment came too late. His mark resided in all corners, as sure as a carbon footprint. Now, even defeated, his will continues to live on. 

Relentless and unending, until a new one takes its place.  

[the-kipsabian]

maybe instead of a fic writing goal list i should make a fic reading goal list huh

[petrichorium]

Many things to read but I’m in the middle of a minor kitty emergency so I apologize 🥺

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

I LOVEEEEE YOU FICS OMG OMG

If you could be so kind to write a DomgojoxBratreader where he is her academic rival and they are always arguing but they start falling for each other. She is sassy and he matches her energy 🙏🏽🙏🏽

I pushed her back to the wall and said “You done?”

Tags: dom!Satoru x fem!Reader, brat!Reader, brat taming, academic rivals, rivals to lovers, slight angst, maybe hurt/comfort, hea, cursing, smut, mdni, spanking, slight impact play, cunninglingus, unprotected sex, this shit gonna be nasty i fear.

An: This all takes place when they're in a like Jujutsu Tech College... bare with me lmao. It's basically the events from their highschool years, but I made it to where they happened while they were in college, so all the characters are of age here. I looooove the academic rivals trope after I wrote my Hiromi fic 😩 you can read that here if you’re interested! Also, so sorry but this is a long one... 7.3k words...

Thwak!

Your body jolts forward a bit as you’re slung unceremoniously over Satoru’s shoulder. His large palm wooshes to connect with your bottom once more.

Thwak!

“Why is it always the small ones who I can throw around so effortlessly that talk the most shit?” His face is occupied with that shit eating grin as he gives your ass another spank just for the hell of it. There’s nothing you can do about it anyways. He may as well have his fun.

“Put me down, Satoru!!” You whine, trying to jostle your way out of his grip, but he’s having none of it. Your fists pound at his muscular back, but he continues to laugh. Without your cursed technique, you’re really are just a weakling to him.

“Where are your manners, princess? That’s no way to speak to your upperclassmen.” He taunts as he continues to carry you around with ease. “Maybe if you call me senpai, I’ll put you down.”

“Fuck no! I’m not doing that, weirdo!” You huff as your body continues to wriggle in his grasp. Geto watches with an amused look on his face. He makes no effort to stop Satoru’s shenanigans since you really were asking for this by provoking him all day today.

Your cursed technique is the only one that comes close to countering Satoru’s, so you’re the only person he’ll bother training with. However, he’s a complete asshole to train with.

When you’re losing, he gets all cocky and mouthy, talking about how weak and pathetic you are. When you’re putting up a good fight, Satoru somehow gets even more energetic. His cursed energy output increases exponentially, and he gets touchier too because he can’t cope with the euphoric feeling of actually having a challenge.

Principal Yaga was the unfortunate soul who had to tell Satoru that it was inappropriate to bear hug you for so long after a good sparring session. One time, you were trapped in his arms, completely unable to move for almost an hour as he rambled about how much he enjoyed getting that energy out. His face was also coincidentally(?) shoved in your chest. He, of course, claims it was nothing sexual, but you were completely pressed against him. You felt him grow hard against your thigh.

Either way, you always felt like you had a chip on your shoulder. You didn’t just want to he known as the one who could “almost counter Satoru”. You wanted to be known as the one who could beat the strongest sorcerer of today.

Unfortunately, you weren’t strong enough to beat him in combat yet, so you usually provoked him with words. All day, Geto has had to listen to you and Satoru bickering back and forth with each other.

“Well, at least my eyes aren’t off putting to look at.”

“My eyes are beautiful, princess. You’re just mad that you can’t get a date meanwhile I have girls falling all over me.” Satoru of course childishly stuck his tongue out at you.

“Bold of you to assume I can’t get a date.” You fire back with a small huff, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Oh? Does the princess have a date? Make sure to let me know how that goes.” Satoru laughs, and his hand ruffles your hair uncaringly.

“You can ask your dad tomorrow morning how it went.” You’re use to Satoru’s sass by now, and you know how to perfectly match his freak as some would say.

Satoru shoots you a small glare, which only elicits a giggle from you. You decide to push it further. “Yeah, I’m thinking about giving you a sibling. What do you think about that, hm? Maybe we’ll make another six-eyed freak with the limitless technique, so you aren’t that special.”

Satoru’s nose twitched in disdain. Not only did he not like the thought of not being special anymore; he despised the thought of you sleeping with his dad.

And that’s how you ended up thrown over his shoulder as he carried you towards the training matts. “Quite the mouth on you, princess. If only you could fight as good as you yap.” He smirked as he gave your ass a light spank. Once he realized the amount of control he had over you in that moment, it was game over for you.

“Let me go, Satoru!” You shrieked as Gojo continued to manhandle you over his shoulder. After a good twenty minutes of him holding you up, Suguru finally spoke out.

“You two are starting to sound like an old married couple. Put her down, Satoru.” Geto’s calming voice finally laid down the law to which Satoru reluctantly abided by, allowing for your feet to touch the floor.

You caught your breath as you were put down. It had been taxing to wrestle in his arms and scream for him to stop it. He knew you couldn’t activate your cursed technique while had full control over your body. Plus, if you were to activate your technique, you would’ve likely hurt Geto in the process. Satoru knew you wouldn’t even entertain the risk.

While Satoru was Suguru’s one and only friend, you were more like a little sister at Suguru’s side. He was the only one who didn’t view you as “Satoru’s counter”. To Suguru, you were just “y/n”. He saw you as an underclassman with an unprecedented level of potential.

He also often helped you with your studies. While Satoru was technically the brighter one of the two, Suguru was a true teacher. He explained even the most complicated topics to you, much to Satoru’s displeasure.

You didn’t miss the scowl on Satoru’s face each time you came up to both of them to request for Geto’s help. You didn’t miss the way he’d stare at both of you with a slight pout and how he’d try to tell you the answer before Geto could explain it.

You figured that it was just Satoru being spoiled. He didn’t like not being the center of attention when it came to you and Geto.

Satoru turned towards you, and he opened his mouth to continue on his little beratement of you when the door to the training area was abruptly opened. Principal Yaga stepped through the doors and called Gojo and Geto to his office.

The principal ended up sending the two young men out on a mission, and that was when everything changed between you three.

*** *** ***

Things between you three went dry for a while. You knew the details of what happened, but you didn’t dare talk directly to Satoru or Suguru about it.

Both of the men went their own separate directions, leaving you behind in the dust as if you were a child of divorce. Satoru took on an ungodly amount of training, barely ever at the dorms to do anything. Suguru occupied himself with a massive amount of missions.

Suguru was getting skinnier too. His long black hair was becoming thinner by the day, and he always looked so painfully tired. You felt like you would be a burden on him if you asked for any help from him.

Satoru was training so much, putting on more muscle in every place of his body. He didn’t ever invite you to spar with him anymore. He never taunted you in the hallways or even made direct eye contact with you.

They were both so preoccupied in their own grief that they seemingly forgot about you.

Things didn’t stop there either.

Haibara’s death shook Jujutsu Tech to its core. Nanami dropped out of the program. Suguru dropped out and was now a wanted criminal. Shoko wasn’t on the teaching path anymore, moving to learn more RCT to prevent something like this from happening again.

It was just you and Satoru on the teaching path. “Class” if you can even call it that - was so depressing that you barely bothered to show up for lectures anymore. Satoru was taking on every single mission, filling in for Suguru, Nanami, and Haibara’s absence. He wouldn’t even speak to you about Suguru or anything else for that matter.

Feeling so incredibly alone, you were curled up in your dorm late one night. Your face was sticky from tears, and your breath was so uneven. You just needed to talk to someone.

You didn’t think he’d answer, but Suguru sounded happy when he picked up the phone.

“Y/n, how are you?” His voice was like a double edged sword. It was so comforting to hear his voice, but you also remembered the lives he took.

You two spoke for over two hours. You vented out every single grief and complaint to him while he calmly tried to convince you that Jujutsu Tech was a waste of your time.

He was so good at buttering you up, making you feel like his way of thinking even made sense. You were so desperate for a friend; you couldn’t care less that you were essentially signing yourself up for a cult.

“Come to me, y/n. We could do great things together. It’d be like old times. I need you here with me.” A cult leader preying on someone when they’re at their lowest.

You agreed, hanging up the phone to start packing your bags. You couldn’t take living here anymore anyways, not after everything. Satoru probably wouldn’t even notice that you’re gone.

Quietly creeping down through the dorms, duffle bag in hand, you flinch when a sudden hand grips your shoulder from behind. You let out a sharp gasp followed by a small cry before you turn around quickly.

Satoru was standing behind you, no humor in his face at all. He was shirtless. His abs and muscular arms were on full display as he was only wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, and his hair was slightly damp from a shower.

“Where are you going?” He asked in a tone you’d never heard him use. He was being stern with you as if you were a child.

You shift uncomfortably underneath his gaze before you brush his hand off your shoulder. “I’m going to go stay with a friend.” You give him a half-lie, not able to tell him to his face that you were leaving.

“Pretty large duffle bag for going to stay with a friend, don’t you think?” His hand effortlessly takes the duffle bag off your shoulder, and he pulls it away from you before opening it, taking notes of the contents inside. “I don’t know why you bother lying to me. My six eyes know when you’re not telling the truth.”

You try to take the duffle bag back from him, but he dodges and bats away all of your attempts. “I wasn’t lying!” You shout, getting frustrated and impatient with him. “It’s not like you even care. Give me my shit back.”

Bright blue eyes look up at you, and his pupils dilate, the size of small pinholes. “I don’t care?” He asks before letting out a humorless laugh. It’s eerie seeing him like this, like a stick that just about to snap if anyone applied anymore pressure to him.

“You don’t. You don’t even talk to me anymore, even when I try talking to you! You and Geto completely blew me off.” Hot tears burn in your eyes as you’re forced to face how you feel right in front of him. “At least Geto wants to talk to me now.” You murmured quietly, shifting your gaze to the ground.

“You talked to Suguru?” Satoru asks, eyes wide and full of anger. His palm comes up and grips your hair pulling it back so you’ll look him in the eyes.

You let out a sharp hiss as his fingers are digging into your scalp. “Let go of me!” You shout, trying to free his hand from your hair.

Things finally start to click in Satoru’s head. You were leaving him, leaving him to go stay with Suguru. His stomach coiled in white hot rage and jealousy. Could you not see all he had done for you? Yet, you still choose Suguru, who had done nothing for you.

Your body feels weak and unstable as you’re suddenly teleported to the training mats in the gym. “Satoru, what?” You ask as you look around as best as you can. He finally frees your scalp.

“You want to go be with him?” He asks before throwing your duffle bag against the door. He then leans over and starts to stretch his legs. “You’ll have to beat me. Prove to me that you’re strong enough, and I’ll let you go. I won’t keep chasing you.”

"Satoru, you're talking crazy..." You reply as you glance over to your duffle bag that was slumped against the door. You had no want or intention of fighting Satoru. "I'm allowed to drop out if I want."

"So what? You just quit? You're just going to let me win like that? Bullshit, yn. I know you better than that." Satoru's eyes bore holes into the very depths of your soul. He does know you better than that — knows that you're not one to back down from a challenge.

Your jaw tightens as you watch him, anger coiling in your stomach. He can never just let you have what you want. Everything was a fight to him. He always gets what he wants because he's the fucking starboy of Jujutsu, and you're just "close enough" to his counter.

You rip your sweatshirt away from your body, tossing it off the matt. Your torso was clad in a thin tank top that you didn't necessarily plan on letting anyone see. You roll your neck. If he wanted to fight, you'd give him one last one.

"Atta girl." He whistles with a smug grin. His body is still in a fighting stance, waiting for you to take yours.

You don't even bother to respond to his praise. You know he's only acting like this to get under your skin more. "Make it count, Satoru. This will be the last time I ever fight you."

"Oh, I make it count each and every time."

It's not long before you two are completely at each other's throats. The amount of cursed energy emitting from the training area was absolutely devastating for the school. Building foundations literally shook. The lights flickered constantly, and a few even blew.

You two were lucky it was in the dead of night. If anyone was awake to witness this, they would've already put a stop to it, but most citizens must've chocked the movements up to small earthquakes in their sleepy haze.

Your body was tired and bruised, but you weren't going to give up. You wouldn't tap — no matter how many times Gojo put you in different submission positions. You always managed to break free and hit him with your elusive technique — something his infinity couldn't recognize.

He had grown so much stronger since your last sparing session. All of the training and missions had done him well. His chiseled body felt heavier against you. His grip was tighter. He was faster, stronger, and smarter.

Strangely enough, Satoru was mostly silent during this fight. He didn't taunt you or call you pathetic like he normally did. Besides his quiet grunts and growls from blows or primal rage, he was deadly silent.

This was serious to him. This wasn't like a fight with a meaningless curse. This wasn't like a cute little sparring session with you back in the day. This was you, and your role in his life. He would be damned before he let you fucking quit and leave him.

"Come here." His voice was deeper, rougher — predatory almost as he went in for another submission. His eyes were trained on you, and he had one objective in his mind: to keep you.

You slipped up, misjudging Satoru's distance from you. Before you could evade him, Satoru's large calloused palms gripped the underside of your thighs, and he lifted your body up with ease, shoving your back against the wall.

"You done?" He growled lowly against your ear, his breath fanning against your skin. His chest was rising and falling harshly. He was also bruised, but he'd fight you for the rest of eternity if it meant you wouldn't leave him.

Your breath was faster than his — literally panting as you took the moment of reprieve and rested against the wall. It had been so long since you too had sparred, you almost forgot how handsy he could be with you in the middle of fights.

His slender waist was between your thighs, still only covered by his grey sweat pants. His abs were glistening in sweat, and his hips created a perfect V dipping into his waistband. You instinctively had your legs wrapped around him — making him support your weight.

"I'm not going to let you win." Your voice is low and shaky from the fight. Your nerves were wound up after the night you had.

"Then, stay. Keep fighting me." His body pressed closer to yours. If anyone walked in on you two, it would definitely appear as if you two were doing things other than fighting.

"He needs me, Satoru..." You murmur, turning your head away from his. Suguru said it himself. He needed you. Satoru just wanted you to keep playing catch up with him.

Satoru's jaw clenched, and he pushed your back against the wall harder. He supported your weight with one of his hands and his waist as his other hand roughly grabbed your jaw. His fingers digging into the soft skin of your cheeks, forcing you to look at him.

"If he needed you so fucking badly, why did he leave you here with me?"

You look at him with lost eyes as the reality of the situation finally starts to sink in. Your big brother, Suguru, had changed into someone you could hardly recognize. You tense — immediately trying to push those thoughts out of your head.

He can recognize that you're still trying to deny it. He jolts your body a bit, making your eyes snap open to look at him again.

"I need you, yn." His voice is raw. He's almost pleading with you. He sounds so convincing, but you can't help but doubt him.

"No, you don't..." You whisper as tears sting your eyes. Suguru didn't need you. He hadn't even bothered to call or text you. If he needed you so much, why didn't he reach out?

"Oh really?" Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. "So, I'm just fighting you at three in the morning for fun? I'm just fighting to keep you here with me for the thrill of it." His hand is unwavering on your jaw, forcing you to look him in the eyes as he speaks.

His eyes look so tired and drained. If you left, how would he have any moments rest. He's barely sleeping now as it is, and if you leave, he'll have to take on your missions on top of everything else.

But something tells you it's not even about that. This fight is the closest thing he's felt to human connection in months.

The rawness of his tone and emotion tugs at your heart strings, but it still feels like you’re giving up to him.

“Fighting at three in the morning sounds typical for you. You just don’t want to lose your favorite punching bag.” You spit back at him.

His hand — so pale and veiny — trails down from your jaw to your neck, and he squeezes just hard enough to make you feel all tingly inside. “Is that what you think? Do I need to fuck some sense into you?”

Your face warms from his crude words, and your hands squeeze his shoulders. His lips curl into a smirk as he witnesses your inner struggle, but he knows the truth. His six eyes know your tell: the way your thighs squeeze around him as if you’re trying to subdue your arousal.

He knows good and well that your pretty cunt is weeping for him, but he’s not going to give into yours or his own desires yet.

“I didn’t fight Nanami when he left.” His voice is back to a steady state, speaking the words carefully to ensure you understand what he’s trying to convey. “I even had the opportunity to fight Suguru to come back. I didn’t.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest, making it feel like your stomach flipped upside down. You want to open your mouth to speak — to demand to know why he didn’t fight them to stay, but his hand was still firmly wrapped around your slender throat, holding you back from talking.

“How dense can you be, princess? It’s always been you. No one else.” A heady whisper against your ear. His hand subtly relaxes on your throat.

Then, you remember all the looks he gave you when you’d ask Suguru for help. You remember the times he would fight or outright just butt into your conversations, demanding to be the center of your attention.

“I knew you wouldn’t win, but even if you did, I lied. I’d still chase you. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I just let you slip past me.”

“Asshole.” You finally managed to speak, earning a dark chuckle from him.

Thwak!

His hand that had been supporting you slapped against your bottom. The familiar sting causing you to let out a breathy gasp.

“You really don’t know when to quit, do you princess?” His hand unabashedly caresses your bottom, soothing the pain.

“I don't think you'd like me as much if I did." You respond gripping onto his shoulders as your body is under his control.

Thwak!

"Probably right about that." He murmurs before he leans into you. His pale blue eyes were half-lidded as he took you in. He's grown tired of denying himself. He's devoted his life to Jujutsu. Now, he just wants to finally do the things he wants to do, and you just so happen to be at the top of his list. "Are you going to play nice, or do I need to keep reminding you who's in control here?"

“I’m letting you have control.” You hiss. Probably not the wisest decision, since Gojo merely lets out a dark laugh. His hand tightens back around your throat, and your back hits the wall with a small thud.

“You’re going to eat your words, sweets.” He mumbles lowly, towering over you as he has full control over your body. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this? Do you even know what you do to me?”

His hardened length presses right against your core as if on cue, and he lets out a small groan from the contact. You bite back a noise that would let on your arousal because fuck… you’re wetter than you should be right now.

Too bad Satoru already knows the truth behind your flushed face and heaving chest. His six eyes really give him the advantage.

“I’m going to have fun with you, princess.” He quietly laughs as he drags his hips up and down, giving you the smallest bit of friction and pleasure. Both of you let out respective pants and noises — both of you were such a mess for each other.

Just when you were finally getting use to his rhythm, Satoru pulled back harshly, letting your feet touch the floor once more. Your legs subtly tremble as you stand on your own. You were still so exhausted from the fight, and now, you were feeling needy on top of it. It was like a perfect mixture for disaster.

You clench your jaw, not wanting to just give into him just because he said some really thoughtful words and looks so devilishly handsome. Sure, you were probably going to fuck him if he kept going, but you were not about to sit there and beg him to fuck you. There’s a perfectly good vibrator stashed in your duffle bag for this exact reason.

You start to walk towards the doors. Though, you weren’t planning on going to Suguru. You’d just… go stew in your dorm about how infuriating Gojo is, and then you’d get your frustrations out in a different manner.

“Oh no you don’t.” He says with a playful nature as he roughly grabs you right back up in his arms. “Gonna make me really work for it, aren’t you princess?” He carries you, despite your honestly pitiful attempts at getting away from him, and he bends you over one of the bleachers in the training area.

“Sato-“

“Shut up.” He lowly growled before grabbing something out of his pocket. His black blindfold crumpled in his hand before he reached over your back. One of his large hands grabbed your jaw, forcing your mouth open, and his other hand shoved his blindfold into your mouth.

“If you spit that out, I’m replacing it with my cock.” He warns lowly before letting out a small laugh at your panicked expression. Your face is so red from pure embarrassment of the situation. It doesn't help when Satoru's large gruff hands grab ahold of your shorts and yank them down to your ankles. Anyone could walk in here right now. Sure, it was late at night, but Yaga was notoriously a light sleeper.

Before you could even think about spitting out his blindfold and cussing him out, a harsh slap clapped against your bottom. Your teeth clamped down on the blindfold, masking a husky moan. Satoru definitely had a bit of an obsession with spanking you.

His eyes devoured you as your ass rippled. His hand gently rubbed your poor abused flesh before he spanked your other cheek. Your body jolted forward. A small muffled whine came from your lips, but Satoru knew you loved this.

You were practically dripping all over the bleachers for crying out loud. "Messy girl~" He taunted with a small laugh. "I think she's cryin' for it, sweets. She wants a spanking too."

You quickly start to shake your head, your body tensing at the thought. His fingertips gently smacked your drooling cunt, causing for an obscene wet noise to infiltrate your ears. You can't even stop the moan that's muffled from his blindfold. Your vision goes a bit blurry from tears of stimulation and slight pain, but fuck, it makes you clench around nothing. You were practically aching to be filled.

"Mmm~ you liked that didn't you, princess?" His hand rubs over your ass, groping you so shamelessly. "One day you might actually learn that I know your body better than you do..."

His finger trailed between your soaking wet folds, spreading your wetness around your clit, drawing out a shaky moan from you. Your legs started to lightly jitter, and it felt like your knees would give in any moment now.

"Poor, poor thing. You look like a newborn deer trying to learn how to walk." He taunted as his fingers circled around your entrance.

You were half tempted to spit the damn blindfold out, but you knew Satoru wouldn't hesitate to keep you gagging around his cock for hours if you kept being disobedient.

Another small slap to the button of nerves sent you forward. Your eyes fell shut as you savored the sensations tingling straight from your core. Your knees went inwards, and you had to support your body with your arms on the bleachers.

"That's it... Who's a good girl?" Satoru breathily purred from behind you. You were such a fucking beauty like this, finally caving in to your desires. You wanted this as much as he did. There was no point in denying it. His fingers went back to rubbing tight circles around your clit to soothe the little painful shocks.

You couldn't even formulate the words to tell him just where he could shove his dick. His ministrations felt like pure heaven, and your stomach tightened slightly. If he didn't slow down, you were sure god was going to come down and pluck you from the Earth.

Seeing the accumulation of energy with his six eyes, Satoru knew exactly what was going on. He smirked as he continued rubbing the swollen numb between his fingers. Your poor wet pussy making the wettest clacking noises he's ever heard. His mouth was practically watering for a taste.

Dropping to his knees behind you, Satoru wasted no time burying his face directly into your cunt. He immediately went to work, using his fat tongue to lap up all of your delicious juices. He gave you tender kisses of encouragement.

"See how you're treated when you're being good?" He taunted lowly right against your cunt. The vibration from his words had you clawing at the bleachers for mercy.

You whined and slightly thrashed, trying to fight the orgasm that was threatening to take over. It was too much- You couldn't cum all over Satoru's face right where you two had spent the most time at each other's throats!!

His tongue prodded at your entrance, and he moaned as he felt your wet velvet heat. You were made to house his cock in there -- he knew it. He'd always been god's favorite, so it made sense that god would bestow such a wonderful woman with the most delicious pussy to him.

His thumb rubbed tight circled around your clit as his tongue flicked in and out. It wasn't a minute later before you were basically gushing into his mouth. A muffled squeal left your throat, and you tried to claw away. Your cunt clenched and clenched, and Satoru nearly pitied your slutty pussy. It really just needed to be filled with dick. His dick.

His hands braced your thighs as he gave you a few more sweet kisses straight to your core before he stood up. He slid himself between you and the bleachers so he could hold you up. Your body collapsed against his chest, and you panted heavily. Not even your best vibrator and favorite smutty book could get that sort of orgasm out of you.

"Don't bite me." He warned with a ragged laugh before his fingers delved between your lips and pulled the blindfold out of your mouth. You didn't have the energy or resolve to even say anything to him. Instead, you opted to bury your face in his bare chest.

"My poor princess. Did I wear you out?" His voice was still teasing, even though he literally knew that he just made you see stars.

"Shut up, 'toru." You mutter into his chest, causing for his heart to swell. He loved that nickname, and he loved how you were like a cat pretending like you didn't like being pet by him.

His fingers pressed beneath your chin, and he pulled you up to look at him. Now, his dick was swelling from how precious your face since you were so fucked out already. Wordlessly, he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours.

Your heart slammed against your ribcage. Getting your pussy ate from the back by him was one thing, but now, he was being all sweet and kissing you?? You can remember all of his sweet words and how he looked when he said them. He was being genuine. He really had feelings for you this entire time.

You wanted to stomp your foot on his toe for taking so long to finally tell you, but his kiss was so sweet and intoxicating. You took a deep breath before intertwining your lips with his.

The sound of lips smacking together filled the training area. You felt the air shift around you. Your passion started to burn hot within the kiss. Both of you chased each others' lips like it was a goddamn need — not a want. Your head actually started to spin as he gripped your jaw and started to nip at your bottom lips with his teeth.

You pulled back - nervous as to why you didn't feel good. Your eyes widened as you took in the change of environment. You were in Satoru's dorm, sat upon his bed. His room was surprisingly clean and warmly lit by a Himalayan salt rock lamp right next to his bed.

"Sorry sweets, I felt like taking this somewhere more private." Satoru merely laughed as his body towered over yours. "I wanted to be able to take my time with you." His voice dropped down an octave, whispering into your ear before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you watched him hook his thumbs into the waistband of his grey sweatpants. They did absolutely fuck all to hide how his dick was straining directly against the fabric. He had a huge tent right in his pants, and his cock had created a small dark stain right on his crotch area from leaking copious amounts of pre-cum.

Once his pants were down, your eyes marveled at just how pretty his cock looked in the warm glow of the lamp. His dick was long, and he had such pretty veins decorating the underside and side of his cock. His tip was flushed a pretty cherry red, and he had a pearl of pre-cum leaking from his slit.

"Aw you flatter me, sweets~" Satoru laughed as he petted the top of your head, affectionately ruffling your hair. You scowled up at him, only making him laugh more. There was nothing like seeing you all defiant and pissy with him... except for seeing you all fucked out and pliant under him.

"C'mon~ give it a kiss." He demanded as his long fingers tightened around your hair, guiding your plush lips straight to his dick. You would rather die than give into him like this. Your legs kicked out from you, kicking him straight in the shin.

He hissed quietly from the pain before giving you a dark grin. "You know, I wanted our first time to be sweet and passionate, but you make it real fucking hard to be nice to you, princess." He let go of your head before shoving you back onto the bed.

"Maybe because you make it real fucking hard to want to be nice to you." You retorted as your eyes narrowed. He settled between your legs with a small grunt. Even while you were arguing with him, your cunt was still soaked.

He was almost tempted to take the words out of your mouth by giving you more of his tongue, but his cock had been neglected long enough. "You didn't seem to have a problem after I gave you your best orgasm." He commented with a lopsided grin.

You stayed still against his bed swallowing harshly. Were you two really about to...? Just hours ago, it felt like you two were trying to kill each other. Hell, two days ago, it felt like he had forgotten you even existed.

"This doesn't make up for anything, Satoru." You warned as you kept your gaze hardened. Your body was to receptive to him to deny that you wanted... needed him, so you weren't even going to deny yourself the pleasure that he could give anymore. But this didn't make up for the fact that he had seemingly left you behind for months...

even if he only did that so you didn't have to bare the weight of his mistakes with the star plasma vessel..

even if he only worked himself to death so you could try to focus on your studies instead of being thrusted into being overworked with missions after Suguru and Nanami dropped out...

No, this didn't make up for any of that.

His touch softened as he cupped your cheek in his hand. His thumb stroked your smooth skin, gazing down at you like he was holding the world in his hands. It made you want to squirm and hide.

"So, this is meaningless for you?" He whispered quietly into your ear as his cock slipped between your sopping folds, grinding the underside of his length against you.

Your words got caught in your throat as you gasped for air. You felt your face immediately warm. Shit, you hated feeling this vulnerable... especially in front of your sworn rival.

"Am I only as useful as that cute little vibrator you stowed in your get-away back?" Satoru continued. His hips rocked back and forth, and you found yourself getting squirmy with each time his tip bumped against your entrance.

He was just too damn big to slip inside. It'd take work and lots of perseverance. Luckily, Satoru seemed to be surprisingly patient in that regard.

He groaned as he felt your slick coating his cock. Your body was fucking made for him: made to be his counter and made to take his cock.

You hid your face in his muscular shoulder, stifling a small whine. Damn his six eyes. That vibrator was a godsend some nights when you were stuck being alone.

"Answer me, princess." He drawled as one of his hands reached back to hold your head gently as if he were embracing you. His hips kept a steady rhythm, driving you mad.

"N-no..." You stuttered out, cursing your voice for betraying your arousal.

"Aw, sweets." He cooed in your ear, moving his hips with a bit more conviction now — testing the waters of pressing his giant cockhead against your entrance before going back to dry humping you.

You let out of noise of frustration, hating how easily it was for him to tease you like this. You knew it was going to hurt, but fuck, you were going to cry if you didn't get some relief soon.

"Shh, shh, I'm gonna give you what you need, sweets." He whispered into your ear, pressing a tender kiss to your cheekbone. "You gotta be a good girl for me though."

His arms cradled you as he peppered your neck in kisses. Your hips were rolling to meet his with each thrust. The slickest noises between you two filled the room as his long cock continued to rub against you.

"I'll b-be good, please." You finally choked out, giving up on arguing with him. You were too desperate now. There was no point in trying to hide it.

Satoru doesn't even attempt to hide his smug reaction to you being all submissive and needy underneath him. He drags his hips all the way back until he pushed himself forward — splitting you wiiide open for him.

"Fuck!" He groaned as your tight wet heat enveloped him, practically sucking you straight inside your sloppy pussy. One of his hands reached up and gripped the headboard for support. His back muscles flexed from the new positioning.

"Sh-shit-! Wait, T-toru... ah~! It's not g'nna fit!" You cried out, nails digging into his flesh as you tried to cope with the intrusion of his thick cock.

"Should've thought about that before you fucking begged for it, princess. Now, you're gonna shut the fuck up and take this dick like a good girl, yeah?" His voice was rough with need — no longer teasing. No, this was just primal domination now.

His cock continued to painstakingly shove it's way between your spongy walls, making room for himself right inside you until he was buried to the hilt. His hand had a vice grip against the headboard, and it took all of his mental fortitude to not bust immediately.

He made the mistake of looking down at you. Goddammit you're too pretty like this while taking his dick so well. Your lips were parted as just a small dribble of drool seeped out of the corner of your mouth. Your eyes were glassed over, and he could've swore he saw hearts in your pupils as you looked up at him.

All your attention was finally on him.

His hips set an unforgiving pace, fucking yours directly down into the mattress as he used his headboard as leverage. At least no one was in the dorms anymore besides you and him. There was no one to bother with how obscenely loud you were whining and moaning for him.

Though, Satoru would've still faced his peers with a shit eating grin the next morning if they still lived here. He was so damn proud to finally have you underneath him.

"T-toruToru~! Toru, oh fuck me~"

"At least that smart mouth of yours is good for something." He growled as his cock continued to rudely bully its way directly to your womb. Your legs were barely able to stay wrapped around him as he pounded his hips against yours.

His white hair stuck to his forehead as sweat started to build up for both of you. He usually hated the feeling, but nothing could tear him away from your sweet, sweet pussy right now.

He huffed as he shoved your legs up onto his shoulders, forcing you into the meanest mating press you could imagine. Your eyes rolled back as you practically kissed your last coherent thought goodbye.

Satoru fucking Gojo was going to had already fucked you stupid.

His cock was ruthless, pressing drabbles of precum directly against your cervix. His hips were practically drilling into you out of sheer muscle memory at this point. He just wanted to rut into until the day he died.

"Yeaaah~ look at you now, princess. Ngh.. can't talk back to me now, can ya? Did Toru fuck that.... mmm- poor little brain of yours stupid?" His hand let go from the headboard, gripping your cheeks with his pointer finger and thumb to make you look up at him. Your mouth parted for him as you gazed up at him.

He gathered a small bit of saliva in his mouth before he directly spit into yours, earning a wanton moan from your lips.

The bed continued to squeak and rattle from the repeated abuse. The headboard was now knocking against the wall without his hand to stop it.

"T-toru.." You cried, trying to warn him of how your tummy was tightening. It felt like every cell of your body was working for this orgasm. Your back arched as you felt yourself tighten around him.

He was already ten steps ahead of you, literally seeing your orgasm before it came. "Cum on my cock, princess. Go ahead. 's okay. I got you." He murmured into your ear right before he felt your gushy walls constricting around him, practically trying to milk his cock.

Goddamn, was it working.

A groan ripped through the air as his dick pulsed inside you. He had been holding on for all this time. He couldn't stop the groans and whimpers that fell from his lips as he finally let go and filled your cute cunt to the brim with his warm cum,

You two stayed still, catching your breaths, and neither of you dared to talk and ruin the moment. It was a silent agreement. Neither of you could fight the attraction between you two any longer.

"I missed you." You finally spoke up quietly. Satoru was vulnerable earlier after the fight. It was your turn now.

"I know." He responded quietly. He regretted taking so many missions and hiding from you. It was his way of trying to make the best out of a shitty situation, but all it did was make both of you unhappy. His nose nudged your cheek gently. "I missed you too."

His lips pressed soft kisses along your jaw. He would take more time later today to fully explain the breadth of his feelings for you, but for now, he was happy to pamper you in affections and aftercare until you fell asleep from overexertion.

Also... he would definitely have to make up some sort of story to tell Yaga and explain why your duffle bag was still in the training area... and why it had a pink vibrator inside.

FUCK FINALLY THE END.

[teruthecreator]

me trying not to lose my goddamn mind

[feng-shui71]

I am at a genuine loss for words right now oh my GOD???? OH MY GOD???? I LOVE THIS SO MUCH AUGDHHDGHSHSHD NOOO WAYYYYYYY ARE YOU SERIOUS

✦ Strange Happenings ✦

Pairing: RE4 Albert Wesker/oc Jordan Manalang (belongs to @feng-shui71!).

Summary: Once the heat of battle has faded, cold reality and old feelings unresolved take its place. Stuck between her own unraveling emotions and a crushing sense of obligation, Jordan is struggling to do the right thing once and for all. (Intended as a direct continuation to this comic right here!)

Notes: It's finally done! A gift to @feng-shui71 that was supposed to go along with my DTIS entry, but I'm sharing it as a separate thing entirely. I really hope I did this messy pair justice. Written mostly from Jordan's pov, but some small glimpses into Wesker's head are still present. Additional notes at the end of the piece!

Word count: ~ 6.5k words (insane, I know).

Credits: dividers by @/saradika-graphics, additional art in the header belongs to @feng-shui71 .

Jordan's breaths came out as uneven, short puffs of air as she stared down at the now defeated creature that must have been a normal human once upon a time. Her heart was racing wildly in her chest, each dull thump echoing in her temples with its intensity, her hands quivering around her reliable handgun in a manner that was utterly atypical for her usual composure on the field.

Fear wasn't the cause of her shaken state, however. No, the dead, huge monstrosity of a man had absolutely nothing to do with her unraveling state of mind. In fact, it was completely insignificant. Although it was dangerous. Used to be, at least.

She was fully aware that it was the man standing beside her that was the true cause of her non-fading agitation.

There wasn't anything she could say once the fight was over. What was she supposed to do now, exactly? Seeing Wesker alive and well - and apparently fully willing to pretend like nothing had ever even happened - was too much for her already frazzled mind to handle.

Like everything was normal and just how it was before.

This was planned to be a mission with very few surprising obstacles to deal with. Come in, track and rescue the president's daughter alongside Leon Kennedy, and get to the extraction point. No extra distractions or feelings involved.

But instead, they discovered an utterly deranged mess of insane cultists, mind-controlling parasites, and unwelcome ghosts from the past who had their own unknown objectives to accomplish in this strange place.

To be honest, she wasn't sure how she felt about fighting alongside him again, even if it was technically accidental. She could have sworn he moved just a tad bit quicker than would be natural to the human eye. However, she dismissed her observations on some supposed training he had received during these past six years. After all, she was a much better opponent now as well, despite her age.

Even if the thought of him honing his skills for what she could only assume was an immoral purpose made her feel queasy.

She wanted to feel angry. No, she did feel angry. She just wished her hands wouldn't tremble so furiously. She wished she could look as if she didn't care. Like he did. Even if it hurt to see.

"...I didn't need your help," she finally breaks the charged silence with a quiet angry mutter, lowering her handgun at last as she turns away to pick up some valuables she landed her eyes on prior. Somehow, this silence between them felt so much more oppressive than the loud bangs and grunts of battle before it.

...What the hell was she doing, anyway? She should probably be trying to apprehend him. Catch him by surprise and do her absolute damnest to get the upper hand, even if it would be a losing battle. That would be the right thing to do. She didn't think he was here for a good reason. A thought that felt extremely bitter in her mouth.

Nonetheless, her urge to get away from him triumphs over her moral compass for whatever reason.

Wesker pressed the palm of his hand to his chest, feigning offense, although he appeared more amused than anything else. It was honestly a bit humiliating. As if he didn't value her feelings at all. Either way, she didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing the tense look painted across face, instead crouching down to pick up some scattered note laying on the floor. However, she was not afforded the luxury of actually reading it.

"Is that all you have to say to me after all this time, dear?" His smooth voice hit her ears with a seductive tilt, yet it also carried a distinct sharpness to it, too. As if he had any right to be upset with her for anything. Then again, he always had a habit of getting on people's nerves. Especifically on hers. "You certainly looked like you needed the help."

She straightened herself and tightened her hold on her handgun as she heard him take a few measured steps closer to her. When she whirled to face him, she found him looking back at her, a bit too close for comfort, and apparently studying her like you would an ant in a glass jar. There was no doubt that her shoulders were too stiff to seem composed. And she wasn't composed. She never truly was, was she? It was borderline cruel.

Almost as a visual mockery of it all, his completely laid-back posture challenged her to do something she probably wouldn't do, even if she should.

A part of her wished she could have a look into that brain of his right now. She would have liked to say she would use such an opportunity to fish out some vital intel... but, instead, she really just wanted to know if he cared at all.

"I wouldn't be distracted in the first place, if it wasn't for you showing up."

In addition to being irrelevant, her defense was not very strong, either. But it was a familiar one. In some ways, this tugged at her heart, too.

...They would always bicker like this back in the day.

Was she trembling because of him or the adrenaline of the fight? When Wesker was only a few feet away from her, he ceased his approach. His gaze moved up and down for a moment before he spoke.

"...You look like you've seen better days," he said bluntly, raising a hand and touching her cheek before she could tear herself away. The touch of his rough palm was firm enough to indicate that he was still angry, but gentle enough to show there was something else there.

Anyway, that's what her stupid heart whispered to her, frustratingly so.

Jordan wasn't sure whether she wanted to punch him square in the jaw right then and there, kiss him to shut him up for good, or do anything in between. His touch still did something to her in spite of everything, whether it was her genuine mourning for him for all these years, some lingering feelings of affection, or something else entirely. And she knew that he knew so, too.

It was not fair.

But she wouldn't allow him get close to her. This time, it was not going to work for him. So, without looking him in the eyes, she grabbed at his wrist and ripped it from her face. Some part of her was grateful that he was still wearing those shades of his for whatever reason. She was unsure about her capacity to look him in the eyes right now.

But all her angry action really did was simply make Wesker smile at her knowingly. The real truth was that he almost craved this. To be the center of her attention once again, even if it was her being furious with him. Still, he swiftly adjusted his expression to one of coolness and nonchalance, his gaze fixed on her despite her refusal to reciprocate the gesture. He was always better than her at keeping his emotions in check. That's what he wanted to think, anyway. Oh, he fully understood that she was angry with him, enraged even, and he enjoyed it.

"No thanks to you," she retorted dryly, her voice tight and guarded. She was now finally looking up at him, her dark eyes intense and filled with a mixture of anger, frustration, and something else that she desperately tried to repress. "You did not answer my question. What the hell are you even doing here?"

He didn't respond to her inquiry right away, instead allowing a brief quiet to settle between them.

"...That's a bit of a complicated question to answer, Jords," he chuckled at last, the words almost mocking with the use of that nickname. He was obviously not planning on giving out any useful information to her at all. It seemed as though he had only come to toy with her or something.

Her grip on his wrist tightened slightly, her jaw clenching. Of course he wouldn't tell her. Most likely, the answer wasn't even remotely positive. Old frustrations and hurt were now steadily bubbling up in her chest like a boiling cauldron, threatening to overflow and scald them both at any moment.

How long did he spend lying to her face in this way? Was it from the start? Did he show her anything sincere in the years of that life they've built together?

"Save the bullshit. I know you're up to something," she said gruffly. She had a fairly good understanding of him. Too good. At least that's what she hoped to believe. Now, however, she did not know what to believe. So, her focus was on the practicalities. That was easier. "Who do you work for?"

With her free hand raised to put the handgun's barrel right to his forehead, she suddenly yanked him closer in the hopes of catching him off-guard. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. This time, she will not hesitate or fold. She will not.

Because what will it mean for her if she does...?

Wesker's eyebrows raised just slightly in response to her hasty actions, the only sign of his potential surprise, but he still appeared infuriatingly unconcerned about the potential danger she entailed. He even appeared to be almost impressed. And maybe a little aroused, but he was certainly covering that one up well.

It was almost as if she was pointing a plastic toy-gun at him, rather than a real, fully loaded firearm that could take his life with a single movement of her finger.

She was obviously unaware that he could easily break free from her hold in less than a second if he so desired, but he knowingly didn't. It was almost like he was tempting her to do something, anything. Instead of raising his hands in surrender or even just finally taking her seriously, he simply smirked, revealing his canines, and looked down at her with a tiny tilt of his brow.

...Were his teeth always so sharp-looking-?

"Still as feisty as ever I see," he remarked, his voice low and even. Much to her startlement, he boldly took a step closer to her, his body almost crowding her in now. "Always wanting to get your way. But I'll humor you, just this once."

Her heart thudded loudly in her chest as her jaw tightened further. He shifted his attention up to the handgun pressed to his head.

She knew Albert was self-assured, but surely even he was conscious of his own mortality, right?

"What are you-" she started, unable to hide the bewilderment in her tone, but he cut her off before she could even utter her question.

"-You know you won't pull the trigger," he said, now fully serious. Before she could add anything else, he visibly pressed his head further into the barrel of her handgun, almost daring her to do it. "You never could."

It was a little frustrating how certain he was in his remark. Then again, his confidence has always been a huge source of annoyance to her. But things felt... different now. He was more assured, more factual. It was almost as if he was stating the most apparent and ultimate truth to her. Like saying that the sky is blue.

But, as far as she was concerned, this was not a simple black-and-white issue.

"You don't know that," she growled, but even she didn't sound so sure anymore. She swallowed heavily, straightening up. She didn't like the way their physical closeness was affecting her. Not one bit. She had no desire to be impacted by him in this way.

Not anymore.

She tightened her hold on his wrist once more and forced him back into the closest stone wall, pushing him up against it with her body. Wesker merely let out another soft, amused chuckle as his back hit the wall, the sound of it sending an unwanted shiver down her spine. Even though the handgun was still pushed right against his forehead, her eyes betrayed her distress plain for him to behold.

The longer he displayed his indifference, the more she cracked.

"-I hate you."

Her voice was low and gruff, those three words coming out as a sharp hiss. While she did wish she could be as detached as he was, there was something liberating in finally getting to express all these festering emotions she pushed down for all these years. Even if it put her in a bad situation.

Nevertheless, she could still see his enjoyment, the manner in which his eyes unabashedly traversed her figure up and down, conveying more than any verbal response could articulate. He didn't speak, simply allowing her to hold him against the wall with no attempts to push back against her. Yet. Somehow, he still seemed amused despite his situation, as though he enjoyed being pinned by her in this way.

"...Do you?" He asked. His tone was both challenging and almost... teasing. "Because there was a time when you loved me."

Her chest ached from his words in a way that no physical injury could ever match.

She did love him, once.

Profoundly.

With every atom of her goddamn being.

And he destroyed it all in a single night.

She grit her teeth so hard that she thought she could feel them chipping. This close, she could smell his subtle cologne - something woodsy and tangy in a way that would make her head spin if she was to get too close - a familiar scent she'd once found intoxicating. Comforting.

But at this point, it was only making her feel nauseous.

"Don't you fucking dare-" she started, but got cut off by her own shaky breath. One that sounded more like a gasp. Her hands began to tremble again. She was so torn between anger, grief, and old feelings alike. It was time for her to pull the trigger. He was not the man she thought he was, possibly never was. He must be here for something equally twisted as it was back in that cursed mansion. Or worse. If not for her own sake, she must do it for those innocent lives that will undoubtedly be impacted by his actions here. But instead, what came out of her was:"You lied!"

She didn't like how loud and hoarse it came out. Though she found it increasingly hard to care.

"...Sometimes we must tell a lie for the greater good. You know, I thought you were smart enough to understand such things by now... But you still cling to the first explanation there is, I see. Pity, I'd say."

Oh that set her off.

"You lied, and you betrayed me. You betrayed all of us, you backstabbing, lying- Do you have any idea what I felt-" she broke herself off again, her breathing heavy, yet her lungs feeling painfully empty no matter how much air she took in. Now there was too much to say, too many emotions filling up her mind, each one demanding to be thrown back in his face. She was unraveling at the seams.

Wesker's smile finally diminished somewhat in response. Just a smidge, just the tiniest of changes, but noticeable regardless. For a moment, he almost looked... a bit guilty. But that expression disappeared in a flash, replaced by one of indifference. He's always been good at hiding his feelings.

But he also recognized that she was technically correct. It was true that he lied. He did betray her. He did leave her behind.

However, he had no regrets about it.

"I did what I had to do," he said, his voice cool and steady. Still, there was a small hint of remorse carefully threaded through his words, albeit it was twisted. "It was necessary. You wouldn't understand."

Oh, he was well aware of her anger and hurt. But he was also well aware that she didn't understand. She simply could not understand his rationale even if he tried. It was very probable that she'd never understand, even if he'd like to believe otherwise.

Still, from Jordan's point of view, his response didn't give him any more grace, if any.

"How convenient for you," she spat out, words feeling like venom on her tongue, painful and bitter. "But you're right. I won't understand. I will never understand how you 'had' to stab us in the back and leave our partners to be torn apart and die like your 'little piggies'. I will never understand you tearing our family apart with your own bloodied hands."

"...You never could," he repeated, his gaze roaming over her face, taking in every little aspect of her rage. "You were always too naive for the truth. Too soft. That's why I kept you in the dark."

His words made her jaw clench. It didn't even sound like an insult this time around, but it still felt like one, anyways. She was not fond of being referred to as soft or naive. Her entire goddamn life was spent training to be anything but those things.

Yet here he was, using those exact words to mock her.

"Naive?" She snapped in disbelief, "I trusted you. Because I loved you. That's what you're supposed to do with people you love, with family! And you played me like a fool."

She pressed the handgun harder to his forehead, but she still didn't squeeze at the trigger. In fact, her finger wasn't even on the trigger now. Though, neither of them addressed this detail.

Wesker held her gaze, his expression unreadable. He didn't flinch, but his jaw clenched, his muscles tensing ever so slightly under her heated stare. "Yes... You did. And your trust meant a lot to me. Whether you believe that or not."

That didn't help at all.

"I loved you," she breathed out. Something she wanted to say with a snarl, but instead it sounded more like a broken plea. She wanted him to show her anything, any sign that he still cared, that he always cared. "And you lied to me. God knows for how long. Maybe from the very beginning. Hell, maybe none of it was real."

She shook her head, the words leaving the tip of her tongue before she could stop them. This had nothing to do with this. She should focus on getting information from him and apprehending him. Her fallen teammates wouldn't have wanted her to do this. And yet-

"You were the one fucking person I let in like that," she said, her voice dropping to a hoarse whisper, "And you stabbed me right in the back. Or, well, should I say 'shot me right in the face'? And don't even give me that 'I knew you'd survive it' bullshit."

Those final words were more bitter than anything else prior, reminding them both of the blood-stained memories that had tortured her ever since.

And when that was brought up, Wesker's face visibly darkened on the spot. Something that made her feel just a tiny bit of twisted victory in her chest, knowing she finally got to him, hit him where it hurts, maybe. He appeared angry with her, yes, yet there was something else going on, too. Regret? Perhaps. Guilt? Who the hell knows.

Her words did make his heart churn in his chest, even if he appeared to be almost completely unaffected on the surface. He knew he hurt her and he knew he betrayed her in the way that he probably wouldn't have forgiven, either. Even now, despite his own feelings on the matter, he could tell that she was sincerely and deeply hurt.

That was never truly his objective, ironic as it was.

"...You know it wasn't personal," he started, his voice low and measured. "It wasn't about you. It was bigger than us. Bigger than anything we could've had together."

He was still attempting to excuse it. Despite everything, he remained stubborn as ever in his beliefs. Indeed, that has consistently been his nature. He was battling to persuade himself that he made the correct decision. And that irritated her even more.

"You have to understand that-"

"-That makes it worse, you fucking idiot!"

Jordan cried out, interrupting him right in the middle of the sentence, throwing all attempts to appear unaffected out the window. For all these years, there had been far too much that had been simmering and decaying within her. She has exhausted herself so far beyond her limit by keeping it all inside under an iron lock. And his words weren't helping. Not at all.

Her face showed a combination of frustration, pain, and confusion. She was having a hard time understanding, comprehending what he was even saying, and why he thought it would somehow make her feel better about it all.

"I loved you," she repeated, her voice cracking with emotion, "And you threw it all away for... whatever secret bullshit you were chasing! 'Bigger than us' my ass! You know, I hope your children never learn how little they apparently mean to you."

Although hidden under the thick shades of his shades, the vertical pupils in Wesker's eyes narrowed at that, making him finally show a mixture of steadily simmering rage and his own frustration flashing across his sharp features. Oh, that one struck a nerve, she could tell. Well, good. The bastard deserved to feel shitty for once in his life.

Of course, Wesker knew she loved him, hell, he probably still loved her now, although that was a sentiment that remained unspoken. But the complexity of it all was beyond her comprehension. And he doubted she'd understand. Not yet. She was far too emotional, far too fiery, far too raw to truly understand right now.

He will help her to understand in time. But it was still... frustrating right now.

"It wasn't just some 'bullshit I was chasing'," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "It was something bigger, something important."

"Oh yeah? Try me," Jordan snorted, the sound more angry than humorous. "Try and tell me what is more important than your own fucking family, Albert. I'd love to hear it."

The more she pushed, the more his own rage began to surface and the more defensive he became.

"You don't get it. You never could-" He was disappointed and angry. At her, for not understanding. At himself, for caring. As he pressed himself off the wall, she stumbled a few steps backwards, still pointing the handgun at him but predictably not doing a thing to properly threaten him. Somehow, it only frustrated him further. The answer was staring her right in the face, and she refused to acknowledge it due to her own stubbornness. "You see life too simply."

Jordan's eyes widened, her prior anger replaced by a sense of danger that radiated from him in waves. "Stand down-"

He completely disregarded her warning and simply kept moving forward, now being the one to crowd her in.

...Damn it, she forgot how big he was.

"You see everything in black and white. Good and bad. But the world doesn't work like that. It's about power. It's about winning. I did what I had to do to win. I had to make sacrifices. And you just happened to be one of them."

Her grip on the handgun began to slip, and her hand shook slightly.

"A sacrifice...?" She sputtered in pure disbelief, her voice a mix of shock and anger. Somehow, despite everything, that still came as a complete surprise to her. And not a good one. "Is that what I was to you? What, just another... pawn on your game or something? A sacrifice?"

She was still unable to comprehend what she was hearing in spite of everything that had transpired.

All those feelings they'd shared, all the countless precious moments they so carefully created together, big and small...

The pain in her voice was more clear than ever before. It was proving difficult for her to understand his words and reconcile the person she once loved with the man standing in front of her now.

He scoffed, seemingly only frustrated with her hurt response: "That's not what I said, Jordan. Stop putting words in my mouth and listen for once in your damn life."

With the handgun still aimed at his head, she lifted it a little.

"You left me," she repeated, "You left me there to die. And now you want me to listen to you? To understand why you 'had' to betray me? What, did you have to shoot me in the face, too?"

"That's not-"

Her rage and hurt were spilling over as she shook, refusing to let him finish. "Was it all just a lie then? Everything we had together. Was any of it real? Anything at all?"

Wesker's face went dark again. He was still standing there, close, and she could see the visible tension coiling in his muscles under his dress-shirt as he tried to hold himself back from whatever it was he wanted to do.

Perhaps from killing her.

She didn't know anymore.

But the truth was that, if words couldn't penetrate her thick skull, Wesker yearned to reach out and touch her, to grasp at her and make her understand via touch alone. He realized that it was not the appropriate moment for that, though. Not when she looked up at him with such rage and betrayal in her eyes.

She'd probably just punch him, anyways.

"It wasn't a lie," he said instead, the words forced out through gritted teeth. He was struggling, she thinks. "None of it was a lie. I did care. I still care. Why do you think I'm here exactly?"

He took another step forward, reaching out to touch her cheek again. His touch caused Jordan to recoil, as though it had burned her. However, she refused to distance herself or avert her gaze from him. Whether out of pride or something else.

"Don't," she whispered, her eyes pained, all previous fire long fizzled out and crumbling into ash now. "Don't fucking touch me. You don't get to touch me now."

She could sense herself shaking, though, even as she mouthed the words. Her feelings for him persisted, even now, despite all she was aware of. All she was not aware of. Even after all this time, even after everything he has done to her. She was utterly torn between anger and grief because of how she felt for this cursed man. She was angry at him, she hated him, yet she also wanted him. Equally intense was her want to reach out and touch him.

Despite the painful revelations she's faced in their last encounter, she mourned him in the years she believed he was dead. In a way a broken lover would. She mourned him in shame, in secret, unable to even share her grief with a single soul. Murderers and villains aren't mourned, after all. What would Chris think of her if she revealed just how much her heart has bled for Albert all these years? How would Jill feel? How would Barry feel?

She could only imagine the disgust that all the deceased S.T.A.R.S. felt for her from beyond their graves.

Her anguish was a concealed secret, repressed and relegated to the deepest corners of her soul. But, God, did it fester. Like a rotting wound, it gradually spread its repulsive decay over her body and soul, until it threatened to consume her whole.

However, she was too proud, too stubborn, and far too angry to concede.

So, she shook her head, attempting to remove his touch, but she remained there, trapped in place. She could sense the warmth of his skin against hers and the subtle pressure of his fingers on her cheek. So familiar yet so foreign now.

"...Why are you doing this?" She asked, her voice cracking, "Why are you tormenting me like this?"

Wesker's heart clenched as he watched the stormy emotions play out on her face so clear for him to see. Whether she believed it or not, he truly had no desire to do this to her, this wasn't the way he had wanted things to go. She had a habit of ruining his meticulously crafted plans, it seemed. Still, he'd forgive her every time.

However, he was also a man who enjoyed having full control. He was a man who always got what he wanted in the end. And he wanted her.

He drew nearer till their bodies were nearly touching. He silently observed the way she was reacting to him, the way she was resisting her own emotions. It was admirable how determined she was to stay strong, no matter the odds stacked against her. He's gotta give her that. He always liked that in her. That stubborn spirit of hers. Even if it caused him trouble, time and time again.

He knew perfectly well that it was wrong, of course. From her standpoint, that is.

It was cruel.

But he was unable to stop himself. He didn't want to.

So, he grasped her chin, tilting it up to ensure she met his gaze directly. She looked beautiful, even now, he thought to himself.

"Why am I doing this?" He echoed back to her, his voice softer now, almost apologetic. Almost. "Because I can't stop myself around you. Because I can't resist you. Because I need you. I always did. Against my better judgement."

His thumb swept over her lower lip as his fingers started to trace her jawline, refamiliarizing himself with the contours of her face he hadn't touched in so long. She couldn't help but shiver at the subtle touch.

Her resolve began to crumble. The way he was touching her and speaking to her was just... too much. She wished he would keep being that self-absorbed jerk to her. That would be easier to deal with than this. It was a bit ironic, how nothing he did would make her feel satisfied.

Still, her body dutifully responded to his touch. Her heart started to race, her breathing becoming shallow.

Everything about him right now felt too familiar: his words, touch, presence.

Too soothing.

Too right.

And so wrong.

"Albert..." she whispered. Her weak heart betrayed her, and she hated herself for it. Hated that she still reacted so well to his touch after all these years. "You can't... say things like that..."

Her words have completely lost all semblance of a protest to them. They were just a weak plea now. It was absolutely pitiful. She was pitiful.

"You can't just... you can't just come back into my life and... and act like we're fine. Like nothing ever happened between us."

But her willpower was weakening. He was pressing so close to her now that she could feel the warmth radiating off his body. Alive. Real. And she felt the growing want to lean in, to melt into his body as she always has, to feel his arms enveloping her, and to temporarily forget about everything else, even if for a single, blissful moment.

Now, though, she couldn't do that, could she? He stole that comfort from her. And she hated him for it.

Wesker was also able to see it. The way she was steadily weakening against him, the way her body responded to his touch. Not that she was even trying that hard to hide it now.

Finally, she was under his control. She always is, after a little bit of effort on his part, after all.

He leaned forward, the warmth of his breath ghosting over her skin.

"I can say whatever I want," he murmured, his other hand reaching out to rest on her hip, pulling her ever so slightly closer. "And I am aware that we're not fine. But I still want you."

He knew that, with this, he was torturing her mercilessly. But he was powerless to stop it. He has missed her, dear God, he has missed her more than he was willing to acknowledge, and this human weakness of his was seeping into his touch. He didn't want to let go of her after getting to feel her again.

Hid hand gripping her hip in such a way made her gasp lightly. She was steadily losing herself in his touch, his scent, him. She ought not to. But she was.

She did make an effort to put up a fight against it, to the best of her ability. She made an effort to stay angry and resentful, but his touch was breaking down her walls. It has always been this way. He was the only one who had ever seen this side of her. Beneath all of the bravado and carefully crafted independence, there lied a weaker, lonely woman who just wanted to be embraced as she was and soothed from all of her worries.

Because of that, she used to adore him wholeheartedly. Now it just felt humiliating.

"-Stop it," she gasped, her voice strained. "You can't just... you can't just come back and expect me to just... forgive you. Not after everything. I can't."

However, her free hand has grasped the collar of his shirt, her fingers squeezing the fabric with underlying urgency. It was a subtle indication that she was slipping. It thrilled him as much as tugged at his heart. Her other hand that was still holding onto the handgun was also slackening as it lowered slightly from his forehead. Although her mind was urging her to push him away, she wasn't doing so. She should do the right thing and take action. Chris would have made that decision. Jill would have made that decision. Barry would have made that decision. Even Rebecca would. For all the teammates who were killed so cruelly and unfairly. But despite everything that has happened, she still wanted his touch. Despite all the suffering and betrayal.

When she said her final, real words, her voice was nothing but a raspy whisper: "...I hate you. I hate what you did to me."

Finally, he had her exactly where he wanted her.

His own voice was somehow kind yet firm, and as he leaned in closer, his lips lightly brushed her cheek.

"Hate me or not, you still want me. I can tell. You can't resist me any more than I can resist you. We're two sides of the same coin, my dear." His hand tightened around her hip, indicating a possessive grip. "All those years apart, and look at us now... You could call it fate. A rather intriguing concept. What do you say?"

His lips were now steadily traveling down her jaw in quick, sickeningly soft kisses before she could say anything. Jordan was shaken, utterly speechless at the onslaught of sensations that were so subtle, they could almost be written off as figments of her imagination. A taste of something he knew she wanted.

He was quite cruel.

"You act like you can't stand the mere sight of me, and yet you're shaking in my arms. The way you're holding onto me... I think you know why."

Before he could go any farther however, he pulled away after giving her a single, almost tantalizing kiss on the corner of her lips.

She despised the way she reacted to him. She felt completely helpless now as her handgun lowered from his forehead against her will, no longer even pointed in his direction. She was utterly helpless to stop it. Or maybe she just didn't want to, and that was the ugliest truth of it all.

He was correct. Her hatred for him was overwhelming. But with just one push, hatred is readily able to slip into love, much as a pendulum swings back and forth. And right now, her hatred was being overtaken by an even more powerful emotion.Yearning.

With her eyes closed tightly and lips pressed together, she tried very hard to stop the sound that was steadily coming up her throat. A sound of need and longing.

She was fighting a vicious internal battle, using all her willpower to stiffle her desire. However, it was a futile struggle. In addition, she has already failed to act in the appropriate manner the very second she couldn't bring herself to pull the trigger. Maybe she was just not as good of a person as she thought she was.

Maybe none of it even mattered.

She has never been able to stop him from getting what he wants. He had her under his control, and he was very cognizant of it. It's like trying to escape out of a cobweb, only to get tangled up more the harder you try. It was hopeless. She was hopeless.

"...What do you want from me?" She asked, her voice hoarse, the words pushed out past her clenched teeth. It was an implied admittance of defeat, one that certainly did not go unnoticed by him.

He was definitely more that aware of having almost won this wordless battle between them. He was confident that he had her right where he needed her now.

He drew her closer as his hand tightened around her hip. His body was now pressed up against hers, his touch both possessive and demanding, no longer trying to conceal his intentions.

"I want you," he said bluntly, his voice low and rough. "I want all of you. Your anger, your hatred, your pain. Your love. Your need. I want you to give me all of it."

And before she could respond, he closed the space left between them and kissed her, snatching what little breath she had.

He didn't really give her much time to ease into it. His kiss was forceful, controlling, possessive. He was taking what he wanted, what he's been craving for all these years. It was nearly too much. Like she was drowning in him, with his presence actively cutting off all her senses with its stiffling intensity.

She heard the muted sound of her handgun striking the ground, the metal bouncing off the hard rock and reverberating through the walls, as if from underwater. Like a loud declaration of her failure. He did not make her do that. Or did he? She wanted to say he did. Hell, there was still a big, raging part of her wanting to push at his chest as hard as she could and scream her lungs out at him. But now, did she even have the right to do that? Wouldn't that make her a hypocrite? Wasn't the line already crossed?

His words were scathing, penetrating deep into the darkest corners of her soul and eroding all of what was left of her determination. Maybe he was right. Maybe they really were just two sides of the same coin. She didn't know anymore. And it was getting harder and harder to see herself as anything but a failure.

His hand went from her hip and slid up her side, firm and demanding. As he pulled her further against him, he deepened the kiss with practiced ease, making her let out a small, choked noise that instantly got swallowed by him with a sharp breath. His touch was hungry, punishing. In a way that made her knees buckle. She hadn't been touched like this in years, and the familiarity of his scent, his warmth, his everything was just too much for her to bear.

Ah... fuck it.

She pushed all of her reservations away with a single sarcastic thought flashing through her mind, roughly dragging him in by his shirt collar and returning his kiss with a desperate one of her own. Not in any way similar to her heated kisses of the past long lost. She was angry with him, with herself, and with the world at large, and she wanted him to know it, as evidenced by her teeth harshly sinking into his bottom lip with such severity that he sucked in an involuntary gasp against her.

However, he didn't appear to mind it too much. If his small, rumbling groan that followed suit was anything to go by. It certainly sent a sharp shiver up her spine.

The way he held her felt familiar. But it was also different. It had a new edge to it, an intensity that wasn't there before. He was different. Perhaps it's who he has always been. She didn't know.

A tiny, foolish part of her wanted to think that, like in dumb fairy tales with their happily-ever-after's, she could somehow make everything alright again with a single magic kiss. Fix it all with power of love alone. Of course, that was not going to happen. And the sudden piercing sound of her receiver going off felt like a lightning strike on a sunny day, shattering the already frail illusion into a million broken pieces before it could even take its proper shape.

Breathing shakily after the entire experience, she broke away from him with a single gasp. She tried not to think too much about the thin string of saliva that was connecting their lips before breaking off. A good visual reminder of the stupidest choice she could have made. For a moment, she was just frozen, completely unable to bring herself to act.

What the hell should she even do at this point?

It was probably Leon... Or maybe Luis.

Before she could do anything, though, she noticed Wesker smirking to himself, the usual smugness returning to his sharp features. Without any further cocky comments from his side, he merely reached over and swiped his thumb over her bottom lip, cleaning off the remainders of their messy kiss from mere moments prior. It was difficult to avoid shivering at the touch.

"What are you-"

"-You should take it, my love. It could be important. I have some... unfinished business to take care of myself. But, believe me..." She blinked as she felt him sweep a lock of hair behind her ear before stepping back. A gesture that felt both sickeningly affectionate and somehow mocking. "I'll be keeping an eye on you. And I will be back for you. When the time comes."

He disappeared in an instant, leaving her with a raging receiver and a flurry of panicked thoughts flying through her mind at the speed of light. She didn't answer. Instead, she simply slid down the nearest wall till she reached the cold stone floor, her body curling up on itself and her head hidden between her knees.

What the hell does she do now...?

Additional notes:

• I wanted to explore Jordan's state of mind and how it could tie into her future mental decline in RE5. While she is deeply independent and strong-willed, it seems that Wesker is definitely one of those few people she's fully vulnerable with (based on what interactions they had in re1 comics!). And, well, of course she is! He is her husband! He is her family! Delving into her inner struggle between her usual independence vs the familiar pull of someone she never got to get over was very fun.

• I based Wesker's mannerisms mostly off of Jordsker comics/stuff! Not gonna lie, I tend to lean more into a cold, measured type of Wesker, so sprinkling in some sassiness and charm that he seems to share in his interactions with Jordan was a very interesting change (and good practice!)

• My interpretation of Jordan's entire mental decline (both presented here and one that would follow later in re5) is heavily tied to feelings of guilt and inner shame more than anything else. I definitely wanted to incorporate that here. She feels shame for mourning him as much as she did, when she should have mourned all the innocent that were affected by his involvement instead. She feels guilt for her feelings towards him - thus never properly opening up about them and working through them in a healthy manner. She feels shame for her inability to do the right thing and bring him to justice when she had the chance. And her giving in to him here, while unknowingly to her, stemming from these feelings of inner shame and guilt, is just yet another piece falling into place.

• Wesker is never really dishonest with her in the latter part. Even his earlier words were more just teasing fun on his part. You could call it flirting (horrible attempt at it, really). I actually find that really fun with him here. He's not really being manipulative or cruel with her on purpose, he means everything he says. It is just twisted. Does that make the whole thing better or worse for poor Jordan? Who knows.

[angelltheninth]

Love how you write for Marvel Rivals! It's been one of my favorite games lately. If it's not too much to ask can you write Emma Frost, Natasha, Magik, Hela, Wanda and Storm using a strap-on on their girlfriend?

Hi, Anon! I'm glad you're enjoying the game and me writing my silly little fics. I'll write this one for you too!

Pairing: Emma Frost, Hela, Illyana Rasputin, Natasha Romanoff, Ororo Munroe, Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, established relationship, strap-on use, praise, breeding kink, kissing, clit stimulation, dom/sub dynamic

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: It's a really good time to love women! I love women so much!

Emma spends a ton of time teasing you with it before anything else. She has you tied to the bed, wrists bound and legs spread open, all dolled up in lingerie that is complementary to her own. Of course the strap on is shiny, glistening even more as she runs it through your slippery folds. She hears all your little whimpers and she doesn't need to use her mind reading powers to know how you want to be fucked. And then she does the opposite, her hips moving so slowly but even that feels like too much to your pussy, and yet not enough.

Hela will fuck you in every position possible but her favorite one is the when you're both on your knees and she's thrusting into you from behind. Her hands smooth up and down your thighs, brushing against your wet cunt. She's moving fast, but deep, grinning into the kiss you clumsily pull her into in a desperate attempt to silence your moans. All your effort to do so it futile, with every thrust you get louder. There's no need for you to keep quiet while she's fucking you, she wants to hear you clearly, her favorite woman in the whole world.

Illyana developed a breeding kink during the many times she's used her strap-on with you. She didn't mean to say she's gonna get you pregnant while almost breaking the bed, it just slipped out. From then on she only uses the strap-on with artificial cum in it and bends you in half while doing so. No matter the position she's always within kissing distance, she loves kissing you, her tongue demanding against yours. if she goes too hard on you she will kiss your pussy as an apology and she is being very sincere with her apology.

Natasha often wears her strap-on under her clothes and leaves it to you to get it wet and ready. You can suck it, you can use lube, you can ride it until you come all over it. But after that it's her turn to have some fun and for you to be a good girl and not a brat like she knows you can be. If you do behave like a brat she has no problem putting you in your place, which is under her, screaming her name, telling her how much you love her cock. She's also very forgiving towards you, if you ask her nicely she can go easy on you.

Ororo teases you a lot but ultimately gives you everything you want. She spoils you when she uses the strap-on, she encourages you as you ride it, massages your thighs, your ass and your hips and grins when you tell her you're close. When you feel tired but needy she is more than happy to stay still and cuddle, only moving back and forth occasionally, eliciting soft whimpers from you. Plants soft kisses across your neck while you ride her up and down, back and forth. One of her favorite things is to have you clean it afterwards.

Wanda uses a magical strap-on that makes it feel like the real thing, meaning she can feel your pussy gripping, tensing and relaxing around it. It drives her crazy when you're close to coming but she forbids you from doing so more than a few times. That when when you finally do come she knows you'll take her with you, right over that edge. Loves to watch the strap-on go in and out of you while her thumb massages your clit. The wet, silky pressure around her cock every time she touches your clit almost makes her magic go wild.

[crushmeeren]

// prompt list ideas!

⋆ ⬪ note ; been in a terrible, no good, awful writing slump lately. and i’ve been itching to write some nsfw, so here i am. she told me i didn’t need to credit her (but i’m gonna anyways for letting me use the ideas from her list). thanks @dollyfetti !

⋆ ⬪ note x 2 ; these are short and silly one shots to help raise my motivation to finish other projects, so have fun reading them! it was also to challenge myself not to make these a million paragraphs long… i failed.

| CW ; sex, sex, and more sex — do i really need to put everyone is at least in their mid 20’s in all my fics or????? |

⤷ ⋆ ft. itachi, megumi, kenma, shouto ⋆

master list

ᯓ★ dividers created by me.

⋆ itachi ; ⌜ ¡! do you still hate me? ¡! ⌟

“Itachi?”

No answer.

You arch a brow, eyes rolling with a fond shake of your head. One more callout should get him to show himself. “Itachi, come out here please! I know it was an accident baby, I’m not mad, promise.”

Itachi pokes his head out the door, then sulks his way out of the bedroom and towards the couch, looking like a kicked puppy. He’s clutching a bundle of material to his chest. “Do you still hate me?” He pouts.

You giggle, rising to your feet, and grab the bottom of his shirt to pull him closer. “Clothes can be replaced, my love.”

“But I ruined your favorite t-shirt! I can’t get the god awful coffee stain to come out.”

“Itachi,” you say firmly, coaxing the wadded shirt from clenched fingers, regarding it briefly before tossing it on the coffee table. “Stop worrying. Please believe me when I tell you I’m not upset.”

Itachi’s presses his lips together. “If that is what you wish, princess.”

He doesn’t believe you.

You stare at him and he stares right back. “Fine,” you sigh, dropping to the couch. “Make it up to me.”

Itachi’s eyes widen, glancing between your legs. “I’m sorry?”

You point to the floor. “If you insist on feeling so guilty, show me you’re sorry. Eat me out, Itachi. Once I cum all is forgiven,” you offer.

Itachi kneels before his queen. Chilly fingers slip under your waistband, hips lifting as he tugs off your soft sleep shorts and panties. He presses your knees wide open, trailing soft kisses up your inner thigh, pausing to inhale deeply at the crease next to your pussy. Itachi moans.

A warm tongue dips inside, laying flat and dragging up to your clit, kissing it. He traces slow circles that curl your toes.

Itachi loves eating your pussy, and he’s fucking amazing at it.

Two slender fingers slip into your pussy and curl right away, petting your g-spot over and over. He places slick lips on your clit and shakes his head side to side.

Your stomach tightens, twitching thighs kept apart by his shoulders. “Tachi,” you moan. “Your fingers — mm fuck, gonna make me cum,” you whine, fisting silky hair.

He doesn’t stop, eyes fluttering shut to focus. You’re balanced on the edge of the couch, giving the perfect view as his free hand vanishes into his sweats, pulling out his heavy cock. He strokes himself twice from base to tip and heat surges through your veins, pussy clinging to Itachi.

You cry out his name and yank his hair, tipping into the backrest. Your husband whines, doubling his efforts. With a squeak, your heel comes up to push his shoulder. Itachi gets the message. When he pulls away his lips are cherry red and swollen.

Chest heaving, you crane your neck to peak at his cock, noticing the desperate grip he’s got on his base. He shifts in place. You meet his blown out gaze, loving the bright pink flush on his cheeks.

“Say you believe me and I’ll let you fuck me.”

Itachi rushes to answer, “I believe you.”

⋆ megumi ; ⌜ ¡! goodnight to my wife, fuck the rest of you. ¡! ⌟

Drunk Megumi does not often come out to play.

He’s a little louder, a little more vulgar, and it’s a breeze to crawl under his skin. Despite all of that, he’s a sweet puppy for you and you alone.

An empty bottle of sake tips over when Megumi’s hand side swipes it. You’re quick to right it, giving the waitress a sheepish smile and telling her it’d be best not to bring another, regardless of Gojo’s insistence that it’s his birthday and they should drink themselves sick.

“Sorry,” Megumi mumbles, slumping against your side and resting his forehead on your temple. He presses a lingering kiss to your cheek in apology, the sweet alcohol on his breath tickling your nose.

You laugh in good nature, pushing him to sit up straight. “It’s okay gumi, I want you to have fun tonight,” you reassure with a soft smile, brushing stray hair off his face.

Megumi’s lids lower, a small smirk twisting his mouth. “I want to have fun with you when we get home,” he murmurs.

“Megumi-chan!” Gojo sings from across the table. “How will you have fun if you have whiskey dick?”

He receives a middle finger in return.

The two of you leave earlier than the rest, everyone calling out their goodnights, Yuji giggling into Nobara’s shoulder when Gojo teases Megumi about whiskey dick again.

Megumi whirls to face the table, unsteady on his feet, and points at Gojo. “Ya know what? M’only sayin’ goodnight to my wife, fuck the rest of you!”

Everyone bursts with laughter, and you cover your own with a cough, holding Megumi’s hand tight the entire walk home.

Getting inside? Easy. Getting to bed? Quite difficult.

Megumi decided to make out hot and heavy with you in the kitchen, ignoring the glass of water you’d offered, and has managed to bend you over the counter. Pants and underwear pooled at your ankles.

“Gumi!” You gasp, pussy being stretched by a cock it’s not quite ready for, pleasure burning white hot in your belly at the same time. You press your forehead to the cool marble surface, hands outstretched in front of you.

“Fuck me,” Megumi says through his teeth, searching for your wrists and twisting your arms to secure them behind your back. He thrusts in short, sharp snaps of his hips, like he’s got something to prove. “M’always fuckin’ hard for you babygirl, promise.”

“Oh god. Y-yeah, I know you are. Faster gumi, please!” You plead, spine arching, chest lifting off the counter.

Megumi gathers both your wrists in one hand, freeing one to hike your knee up on the counter. “Anything you want, baby girl,” he breathes, fucking you until you squirt all over.

Your husband makes a mess of you in the kitchen and sends Gojo the middle finger emoji the next day.

⋆ kenma ; ⌜ ¡! i wish you’d just listen. ¡! ⌟

“What the fuck dude!” Kuroo’s irritated voice crackles through Kenma’s headset, loud enough for you to hear. “We’re getting our asses kicked, are you even paying attent — shit!”

Kenma, in fact, is not paying attention. Not to Kuroo, not to the video game, not to the live stream he paused.

His undivided attention rests on you, riding his cock sweet and slow, knees shoved between his thighs and the arms of his gaming chair. The leather keeps sticking to your skin. Kenma moans low in his throat when you bottom out, grinding hard in his lap, pussy squeezing the life out of his cock.

Thank god he flipped his mic to mute.

Originally, Kenma’s plan was a brief break from his stream for a snack. He’d sat down, popped open a bag of chips, and jumped a foot in the air when you appeared out of nowhere. Your husband had lost track of time. You pouted, reminding him of his promise to have sex when you got home. He swore only thirty more minutes and it’d be done.

So, you climbed into his lap.

It was too easy to get his dick hard. Trade a few soft kisses with him, place the sharp sting of a hickey on his neck, and he was throbbing between your legs.

The slow roll of your hips has Kenma’s head tipping back into the headrest, eyes disappearing into his skull. Your arms slip around his neck as you dip down to place your lips to his ear.

“I wish you’d just listen, Kenz,” you murmur, breath catching when Kenma’s hips jerk up, hitting your g-spot. “Then I wouldn’t have to fuck you in the middle of your stream. I bet you want your fans to see your hot wife riding you, right Kenma?”

Kenma whines, cheeks flushing dark pink, gaze growing heavy lidded. “Uh huh. Your pussy’s so pretty — oh fuck,” he gasps. “M’ cumming!” He grips your hips harder, pushes you up, yanks you down, and grinds his hips upwards. His cock twitches a few times, whimpering when you tighten your pussy on purpose.

You allow him a moment to catch his breath before moving, using his shoulders as leverage to bounce. His protests are cut off when you tell him you haven’t cum yet.

When you leave, Kenma’s shorts remain pulled taut around the middle of thighs, dick out. He gives some lame excuse about bad WiFi being the reason he’s ending the stream early.

He sounds fucked out when he speaks to Kuroo, breathless and happy. As you stroll naked from of the room, Kuroo’s boisterous laugh hits your ears.

“Bro, did you just fuck your wife on live?!”

⋆ shouto ; ⌜ ¡! we’re not going to bed until we’ve made up. ¡! ⌟

The longest day of your life ends when you leave your agency.

Until it doesn’t.

You’d forgotten to stop by the store for dinner, so you had to backtrack. You arrive in a rush only to find said store is out of the specific sauce that’s vital to your dish. Frustration builds in your chest, but you remind yourself hanging a left in a few blocks will put you at the other location.

About a million people stop you to talk — it’s what you get for wearing your hero costume in public. To be fair, you were under the impression you’d be heading straight home. Finally you’re able to break free, glancing at your phone to see Shouto’s sent you a text that’s a bunch of question marks.

You were supposed to be home an hour ago.

You don’t reply, too caught up in hurrying to the other location. Your chest is tight, agitation becoming a physical lump in your throat. In the store, you see a bottle that vaguely familiar, buy it, and start the long trek home.

Shouto’s in the living room on the phone when you shut your front door and lock it. You toe off your shoes and stop to wave at him. He smiles, but it’s tight, and you know something’s wrong. His Father is probably on the other end.

You frown when he turns out of sight and go to the kitchen, seeing as it’s best to leave Shouto be right now. Setting the grocery bag on the table, you pull out the jar of a sauce.

It’s the wrong. fucking. jar.

You slam it on the counter, cursing to the heavens as your eyes burn, tears welling up. Shouto rushes in, hand covering the speaker to his phone. He asks what’s wrong, checking you from head to toe for an injury.

Your lower lip wobbles. “I got the wrong sauce.”

Shouto’s expression pinches, the sound of his Father being obnoxious carrying across the room. “Stop overreacting. You scared me,” he snaps, tone icy.

Tears flow over your lash line and down your cheeks, stomach dropping. “Fuck you, Shouto. Don’t talk to me like that, asshole,” you sneer.

His expression morphs into shock, then flattens to something blank. He hangs up the phone in the middle of his Father’s sentence.

You fight. Not the worst you’ve ever had, but you do slam the door to your bedroom shut in his face. You remain in there the rest of the night, too upset to eat. Shouto doesn’t come to you either.

You crawl into bed early tonight, eyes puffy, nose stuffed, with a pounding in your temples. The door creaks open slowly, muffled footsteps approaching the bed. You face the wall and ignore Shouto. The mattress dips.

“Baby,” Shouto tries, voice apologetic. He places a hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

You sniffle. “Okay.” You don’t want to talk Shouto. At all.

“Please,” he begs. “We can’t go to bed until we’ve made up. My Mother and Father used to go bed angry. I — I can’t.”

Guilt squeezes your chest. With a sigh you flip to your back. Shouto looks heartbroken, chewing his bottom lip raw.

“I’m sorry for calling you an asshole,” you relent, opening your arms. “C’mere, giant baby.”

Shouto lights up, shifting to get between your legs, snaking his arms around your waist, and buries his face into your neck. He squeezes, hard, and kisses your throat. The spot tingles. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbles. “I love you, I never want to hurt you.”

Your hands run through soft, short hair. “I love you too Sho, it’s okay.” He makes a sad sound, so you frame his cheeks and lift his head, making sure to lock eyes. “I forgive you, Sho.”

Shouto eyes flicker back and forth, searching, and he kisses you. Sweet, tender presses of his lips, shifting towards heated and needy. His tongue pushes into your mouth, a hot glide against yours, hands already fumbling to rid you of your underwear.

His are gone even faster.

You open your legs further to fit his frame, the blunt tip of his cock catching on your pussy when he angles his hips.

“Will it hurt?” Shouto whispers. His brows furrow in concern, forehead resting on yours.

You shake your head. “It won’t. I want you, please.”

He pushes just the head in, rocking with shallow thrusts until he’s bottoming out with each roll of his hips. You plant your heels on the backs of his thighs and Shouto grabs your wrists, pinning them on either side your head.

It’s sweet and fragile, how Shouto makes love to you. He forces you to keep eye contact, the pleasure in your pelvis building one thrust at a time. You plead with him to move faster, harder, he refuses.

“No baby, I want you to appreciate every single stroke.”

Your face shatters in pleasure when you cum, and he keeps you pinned with ease. Never changing the rhythm of his hips, fucking you through the high, whispering, “good girl, you look so pretty on my cock.”

Shouto’s voice cracks when his dick throbs, smothering you with a kiss, begging you to swallow his moans. You do.

Shouto clings to you after, wrapping you in his warm embrace, and you realize he’s right.

Never to go to bed angry.

[reidrum]

if you keep asking | s.r

pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

a/n: this was requested with “if you keep asking me i’m not gonna be okay” or smth along the lines 😭 i am a glutton for hurt/comfort fics so if yall have any more requests send em in :)

summary: in which you’re trying to keep it together when you hear some detectives talking ill of you, and spencer isn’t gonna have it

cw: hurt/comfort, self deprecation, insecure!reader, bitch ass detectives, protective bau my heart, use of she/her pronouns

wc: 2.2k

_______

the bau team was filing into the bullpen after landing from their last case in seattle, everyone making a beeline for their desks to get a head start on their reports so they could go home faster. everyone, except you. it felt like you were on autopilot, remembering your last known movements and just repeating them for as long as you could.

the case in seattle was rough to say the least. the unsub’s mo seemed to change every minute, making any progress the team made obsolete. the only thing that seemed to be somewhat consistent was where the unsub was taking his victims, which meant the geographical profile was the most important part to solving the case, a task you and reid were assigned to.

it started off fine, you both had found the comfort zone of where the unsub would strike next to figure out how to catch him in the act. except the next time he struck it was completely out of the predicted range, and this time a kid had died. no one could have anticipated that happening. it didn’t make the loss hurt any less.

the team knew it wasn’t anyone’s fault, humans are unpredictable, and that includes serial killers. spencer made sure to tell you specifically that it wasn��t your fault, he knew how you’d get if someone didn’t tell you.

his efforts went to utter waste when you walked by a room at the precinct with detectives whispering about how “you fucked up the whole profile, that’s why that kid died” and “it’s clear you make the team stupider, how did you even get into the fbi in the first place?”

it wasn’t the first time your abilities were in question. you were the newest member of the team, having only transferred six months ago from cold cases. you may be new to the field, but there was a reason hotch chose you personally for the bau.

you tried hard to prove yourself, despite pretty much everyone saying your skillset was enough proof. you’d stay late to finish reports, do extra research on cases to help garcia narrow her searches faster, and you spent countless hours at the training range.

you were a worthy agent, anyone who knew you or read your resume knew that. but right now, you felt like the smallest person on earth, an imposter. what the hell were you even doing here if you couldn’t save him.

you shouldn’t be allowed to feel relief that the team caught the unsub, not when there’s blood on your hands.

the bad thoughts swirling in your head causes you to stall your motions when you’re putting files away, gaining the attention of morgan, “you alright, sweet cheeks?”

“i’m good morgan, don’t worry.” you lie effortlessly. if he can tell you’re lying, he doesn’t mention it and turns back to his work.

taking a deep breath, you stand up to go to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, when you run into jj finishing up making her own, “i was just thinking about you, i got this new creamer i think you’d rea-, hey, are you okay?” jj starts but ends concerned.

you try to focus on metronomic tick of the clock so you dont escalate, “i’m fine j,” you laugh unconvincingly, “what creamer did you get?”

she ignores your question, “because i know that was a tough case, and if you need to talk about it with someo-“

“jj, drop it, please.”

the blonde’s face drops a little at your sternness, but respects your space and offers you to try the creamer before returning to her desk. you feel bad for snapping at her, but the growing guilt within you is giving you apathy, and you can’t bring yourself to care at this moment.

you linger in the kitchen so as to avoid any more concerned faces, and you’re left to your own devices that are slowly overtaking you.

unbeknownst to you, spencer had been watching you since you all landed back in quantico. he kept his distance, mostly because he knew how overwhelmed you get at confrontation, especially about your emotions. he was the same way, a man of logic getting befuddled by emotion was enough cognitive dissonance to last a long time.

he knew it was different with you. you had a way of internalizing everything in your surrounding, a downfall to your endless empathy for others even if they never deserve it. he could explain the logic behind your beliefs, and hopefully use facts to help you relax, but that was the other thing he knew about you; you were stubborn. asking for help is something you hated doing, and if it wasn’t on your accord to be asking, it was even more detrimental to your mood.

so when he watched you duck out from the kitchen and push past the glass doors of the bullpen, he knew you were reaching the head of your doom spiral quickly.

spencer got up from his desk, “i’m gonna go check on her.”

jj nodded, “just be mindful spence, something feels different.”

they’d all been on cases that hit a little too close to home, how could they not when all they do is rid the world of the evilest of evildoers. but after a good cry, a rant to a teammate, or even an emergency therapy session, even the worst of the scum could be washed away.

something about the way you’ve been acting since they landed seemed like those fixits aren’t going to work this time.

he let out a sigh in response and walked out of the bullpen, realizing he didn’t actually know which direction you went in. assuming you’d want to be alone, he thinks the bathroom might’ve been a viable option for you and heads towards it.

the nice thing about the seventh floor is that it’s only for the bau, the bullpen was where the team spent most of their time but outside the doors there were so many empty rooms being used for storage.

so as spencer walked towards the bathroom in the hopes of finding you, his ears pick up on a tiny sniffle a little ways before it. he stops in his tracks, hoping he was just hearing things. but another pained sob rang through the door on his left, and he knew he’d found you.

he rapps the door a few times, softly calling your name, “hey, it’s spencer…can i come in please?”

you were on the other side sitting at one of the abandoned desks with your head down, but shot up at hearing spencer’s voice, “i- i’m fine i just needed a minute. i’ll be back in like two minutes, i promise.” you angrily wipe at the tears pooling on your face, grateful that you took your makeup off in the plane.

“honey, that’s not what i asked,” he starts, “is it okay if i come in?

your heart clenches at the term of endearment as you stare at the door knowing he was waiting for your okay to come in, and you start to internally weigh your options. you could let him in, and let him in to do whatever comforting you know logically would help. or you could lie, and feign ignorance to the end.

don’t they say ignorance is bliss?

you make sure to wipe the last of your tears and your runny nose before practicing a few fake smiles so it didn’t look like your face was frozen in sadness for the last thirty minutes. turning the knob you swing the door open, borderline creepy smile on your face as you greet the man, “hi dr. reid! was there something you were looking for?”

he furrows his brows at your complete (fake) shift in mood, but he comes in and shuts the door behind him, and moves to stand a few feet from you, “what’s going on?”

“nothing spence, i’m fine.” you insist.

spencer thinks if you could be more see through you’d be a windexed window. you’re avoiding eye contact with him, picking at the skin of your thumb, he can see your nose is red most likely from all the tissue blowing, and your eyes are still puffy and lined with some unshed tears still. you are so clearly breaking at the seams, like an old childhood teddy bear with stuffing falling out the sides yet hoping you can offer some semblance of stability despite your state.

“you don’t look fine, honey. why won’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

his words almost make you falter, and you think the walls you built so high are starting to chip down. “it’s not a big deal spence, i-,” a hiccuped breath gives you away, “i can deal with it on my own.”

spencer instinctively shortens the gap between you two, “you shouldn’t have to. i just wanna help you.”

“but i’m oka-“

“no you’re not.”

there is only one tiny thin thread left holding you together. “well,” you take a deep inhale and your voice gets impossibly small, “if you keep saying things like to me i’m not gonna be okay.”

“that’s why i’m here.” he says softly.

you look up at him with the biggest glassy doe eyed look he’s ever seen, and it’s like spencer can hear the snap of the thread in real time when he watches your face absolutely crumble. he doesn’t hesitate to pull you into his embrace, allowing him to hold your head down in the middle of his chest while his other hand smooths up and down your back in comfort.

“i know, shh, hey it’s okay, i got you.” he comforts.

your hands wrap around his waist beneath his suit jacket and you keep your face buried in his chest, inhaling the musky vanilla scent of his cologne mixed with the fresh laundry detergent smell letting it ground you back to him.

“i’m sorry.” you cry.

“don’t say that,” he hushes, “is it about the case?” you nod in his embrace, “we talked about it remember? there was nothing we could have done. we did everything right, sometimes it just doesn’t work out, you know that.” he moves his hand to tangle in your hair and rub your head.

“i- i know,” you say through labored breaths. you take a big breath before admitting the true reason for your anguish, “when we were about to leave, i walked by a room with some detectives talking about how i ruined the case and that…i’m the reason the kid died.”

“what?” he pulls back to look you in the eyes hoping to find any indication that you didn’t believe those poisoned words, “we both worked on that geographical profile together, the whole team agreed it was accurate and acted accordingly. what happened was not your fault. at all.” he emphasizes the last two words.

“yeah but…i don’t know maybe i could ha-“

“stop. you can’t do that to yourself. we did what we could with what we had, the burden of that child’s passing does not fall on you. we were only able to find the unsub’s hiding spot when you figured out he’d been going to the same gas station since the murders started.” he reinforced to you.

“they said that they didn’t know how i even got into the academy in the first place, and that i make the team stupider.” you quietly added.

spencer felt the rage consume his body, already planning the ways he was going to obliterate seattle pd. he cradled your head to look at him in the eyes, “listen to me. you are an important asset to this team. you make this team better at what they do, you make me better at what i do. you mean so much to me and the team okay? please don’t forget that.”

he swipes at a fallen tear on your cheek as you tell him between sniffles, “thanks spence…” you hope he understands the sentiment and love you’re trying to exude to him, even thought you’re unable to vocalize it.

“you gotta tell me if something like that happens,” he softly scolds you, “i’ll make sure they lose their fucking jobs.”

you’re about to speak when he cuts you off, “and don’t tell me that we should be the bigger people, because once the rest of the team hears about this, they’re all gonna be fighting over who’s gonna kick the shit out of them.”

you let out a tearful giggle, “you sound really funny when you curse.”

he scoffs, “what the hell, i do not!”

“you sound like a baby duckling that just learned how to say fuck.”

he starts to guide you out of the room and towards hotch’s office so you can recount what happened, “ouch, i’m hurt. i’d like to think the pistol and fbi badge i carry makes me intimidating.”

you giggle again, and spencer puts aside his rage to revel in the fact that you’re feeling better.

when hotch learned of what happened he immediately called seattle pd to file a motion to get those detectives fired, and the rest of the team were secretly praying for a case in seattle again so they could, as spencer predicted, kick the shit out of them.

[meleeyz]

┈﹒ ꒰ 𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗨𝗡𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗘!𝗘𝗞𝗞𝗢 𝗪𝗘𝗗𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡𝗦 ꒱

ekko 𝒙 fem!reader

୨୧ English is not my first language, so I regret in advance if something reads weird or is misspelled

୨୧ These are headcanons of the other Ekko, before the canon Ekko from the show "takes" his place… I hope you understand...

୨୧ I'm still writing for the fic, but the last chapters is taking longer than I thought, I hope you understand, in the meantime I have some things in drafts that I will publish so you don't run out of content.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

another universe!ekko who was really nervous about proposing to you knowing how big of a step that is...

Ekko had always been a confident guy. He was innovator, someone who could fix almost anything. But when it came to you, he found himself feeling like a bumbling preteenager all over again. He wanted everything to be perfect—down to the handmade ring he was crafting for the proposal. Using scraps of precious metals and stones he collected over the years, he poured hours of focus into shaping it into something that represented your story together. Benzo would catch him hunched over his workstation at odd hours, muttering about the alignment or polish. "You know, kid, it’s not like she’s gonna turn you down if it’s a millimeter off," Benzo teased, ruffling Ekko’s hair. Ekko would just grin sheepishly but double his efforts anyway.

another universe!ekko who practiced his proposal speech a dozen times, only to get caught mid-rehearsal...

He was standing in the middle of The Last Drop, the roof their unofficial safe haven for years. “So, um, I’ve been thinking…” he started, pacing back and forth. “No, no, that sounds dumb. Okay—‘you’re the light of my life, and I can’t imagine—’ ugh, that’s so cheesy.” Behind him, Powder crept up the stairs, barely containing her giggles. “Keep going,” she whispered, trying not to laugh. Ekko whipped around, his face flaming red. “How long have you been there?!” “Long enough to know you’re terrible at this,” she teased, doubling over with laughter. “You’re lucky she already loves you.”

another universe!ekko who had no idea you were planning your own big announcement...

While Ekko was caught up in his grand proposal plans, you were busy with plans of your own. The test results sat folded in your pocket for days, and your hands hovered over them more times than you could count. You were going to be a mother. It was Powder who figured it out first, being too observant for her own good. “You’ve been glowing,” she said one afternoon while helping you sort supplies at the community center. “Also, you cried over Mylo spilling coffee, so I kinda put two and two together.” You blinked at her, stunned. “Powder, you cannot tell anyone yet!” She held up her hands. “Cross my heart! But seriously, I’m gonna be the best godmother ever!” You couldn’t help but laugh, though your nerves stayed. You wondered how Ekko would react, if he’d be overwhelmed or excited—or both.

another universe!ekko who proposed on the roof of the last drop, the place where your story began...

Ekko had chosen the roof where he had first kissed you as the spot to ask you to be his forever. He had strung up soft, glowing lights and set up a little table with flowers and your favorite dessert. When you stepped onto the roof and saw him standing there, his hands fidgeting nervously as he smiled at you, your heart swelled with affection. He cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice. "So, uh… I’ve been thinking about this moment for a long time." You stepped closer, your smile encouraging him to continue. "Being with you has been the greatest adventure of my life," he said, his voice gaining confidence. "And I can’t imagine spending another day without knowing that you’ll always be by my side. So..." He dropped to one knee and pulled out the handmade ring, holding it up with a hopeful look. "Will you marry me?" Tears filled your eyes as you nodded, unable to find your voice at first. "Yes, Ekko. Of course, I’ll marry you." The joy on his face was priceless as he slipped the ring onto your finger, pulling you into a tight embrace.

another universe!ekko who fainted when you told him you were pregnant moments later...

But before he could say another word, you decided it was time to share your own surprise. “I have something to tell you too,” you said, your hand trembling as you guided his to your stomach. “You’re going to be a dad.” His grin froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Wait, what—?” And then he hit the floor. Powder’s shriek of laughter carried from the rooftop stairs. "I knew he’d do that!"

another universe!ekko who woke up to find you fanning him, looking both amused and concerned...

"You okay?" you asked, trying not to laugh. He blinked up at you, groaning. "Wait… did you just say…?" "Yes, Ekko," you said softly. "You’re going to be a dad." For a moment, he was silent, then a wide grin broke across his face. "I’m gonna be a dad," he repeated, awe in his voice.

another universe!everyone who was overjoyed by the double news…

Vander insisted on hosting an engagement party at The Last Drop, which quickly turned into a celebration for the baby too. Silco was the first to congratulate you both, "You’ll be a wonderful mother," he said quietly. Claggor and Mylo, meanwhile, started a heated argument over who would be the better uncle. "I’m obviously the fun uncle," Mylo declared, crossing his arms. Claggor rolled his eyes. "The kid needs someone responsible. That’s me." Powder, sitting nearby, added fuel to the fire. "Don’t worry, guys. The baby’s gonna love me more anyway. I’m the godmother!" Benzo couldn’t resist teasing Ekko. "Didn’t want to wait, huh?" he joked, clapping him on the back. Ekko just laughed, unashamed. "When you know, you know."

another universe!ekko who became the most attentive fiancé and father-to-be anyone had ever seen…

Ekko went into full-on protective mode. He insisted on carrying anything remotely heavy for you, making sure you got enough rest, and preparing meals that he claimed were "good for the baby." "Ekko, it’s just a broom," you said one afternoon, trying to sweep the living room. "Doesn’t matter," he replied, gently taking it from your hands. "You’re not lifting a finger while I’m around."

another universe!ekko who is absolutely excited about his baby

Ekko transformed into the ultimate caretaker. He made sure you were comfortable at all times, fussing over pillows, blankets, and cravings. He’d often disappear for errands and come back with baby clothes, stuffed animals, or tiny shoes. "You know it’s too early to shop, right?" you teased one evening. "Yeah, but look at these little boots!" he said, holding them up proudly.

another universe!ekko who spent hours talking to your belly...

He would lean close, resting his head against you as he spoke softly. “Hey, little one. It’s your dad. I just wanted to say I love you already—whether you’re a boy or a girl, doesn’t matter.” Your laughter filled the room. “You’re gonna spoil them before they’re even born.” “Damn right,” he said, grinning.

another universe!silco who became unexpectedly protective of you during your pregnancy…

"Must I remind you," Silco said one day, his piercing gaze locking onto yours, "that you’re carrying a very important member of this family?" "I was just reaching for a book," you replied, amused. "It starts with books, and ends with unnecessary strain."

another universe!powder who was the maid of honor and made sure your dress was perfect...

Powder was practically vibrating with excitement as she helped you into your gown. “You look like a queen,” she declared, fluffing the skirt. “No, a goddess. Ekko’s gonna cry when he sees you.” “Let’s hope he doesn’t faint again,” you teased, earning a snort of laughter.

another universe!benzo who secretly cried at ekko’s wedding...

As you walked down the aisle, arm in arm with Vander, Benzo dabbed at his eyes. When Ekko teased him later, he grumbled, “Shut it, kid. It’s allergies.”

another universe!ekko whose wedding was the event of the year...

The Last Drop was transformed into a breathtaking venue, with twinkling lights and decorations. Vander had insisted on non-alcoholic cocktails, much to the delight of you and the other guests. Ekko couldn’t take his eyes off you as you exchanged vows, his voice steady despite the overwhelming emotions. “You’re my everything,” he said, slipping the ring onto your finger. "I promise to love you, protect you, and be the best partner and dad I can be—for you and for our family."

another universe!ekko who ended the night on the roof where it all began...

After the reception, Ekko led you back to the roof where it all began. The city lights shimmered below, the quiet hum of Zaun wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Ekko knelt in front of you, resting his head gently against your rounded belly. "I’ll be the best dad," he murmured, his hands cradling your bump. "You already are," you assured him, running your fingers through his hair. He looked up at you, his brown eyes shining with love. "And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it."

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

[buckyschair]

✸ WHAT HE DOESN'T KNOW ✸

ILLICIT AFFAIRS ✸ PART TWO 

Pairing: Azriel x fem!reader

Summary: After reconnecting with your old flame Azriel, you can’t get him out of your mind. Now, it’s your husband’s birthday, but who’s gonna give you a gift? After all, what he doesn't know won't kill him... AKA closet quickie with Azriel at your husband’s birthday party

Content Warnings: contains smut 18+ MINORS DNI, cheating (WITH, not ON Azriel), alcohol, female reader, shitty husband (not physically abusive), casual shadow bondage, PIV sex (no protection bc they are faeries and this is fiction, but put on your mental magic condom if you must), gross liberties taken with whatever’s going on with the Hewn City, swearing, no use of Y/N

Author's Notes / Housekeeping:  1. This is a part two to my previous fic Illicit Affairs, I would highly suggest you read that first so that the context makes sense, but not strictly necessary 2. Reader’s husband is a guy I made up, named Lustere. He works under Mor’s dad so he’s a minor political figure in the Court of Nightmares (he’s introduced more in this part, but saying it here for clarity) 3. This fic is not based on Eurovision’s plot at all I promise haha but HEAVILY inspired by that one line from Scotty Doesn’t Know: I did her on his birthday ;)

Enjoy!!

Word Count: 6.8k

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

Despite the world shifting force of your collision with Azriel, not much changed afterwards. 

The days slipped by, transient and thin as ever. 

Although admittedly, after your late night rendezvous, your games died down. You still lit a fire on occasion out of habit, but the fantasies had lost their power to distract you. 

Without the ability to make your thoughts a refuge, your thoughts began to bite back, and they played dirty. They consumed you. 

It was not the gentle kiss of fantasy but the harsh swallow of reality that haunted your days and your nights, your psyche irrevocably tied to the painful present. You were shocked to find it so mind numbing. 

Nothing in your life was your own. How have you put up with it all these years? As a female in a court of males and fuckery, nothing was yours. Every piece of food that passed your lips, every sip of wine, every fancy dress, bought with your husband’s credit. 

So what could be yours? 

Even as your heart despaired, some small part of you whispered, and your soul curled involuntarily around a persistent, subtle flicker. Your eyes had begun to catch shadows everywhere. Wherever they lurked, you wondered, were they his?

You hoped the answer was yes. 

Regardless, their presence soothed you. They were a reminder. 

Azriel. 

What you had with him, however gossamer thin, was yours. No one else’s. 

One night had been enough; the secret fueled you. 

The parties were easier to organize, the house more orderly than ever. When the dullness threatened to deaden every nerve, your memory was quick to recall the thrill. It kept you back from that brink. 

However, it was a pity that the fresh fuel was poured into such futile efforts, the most interesting of which was planning boring events for your and your husband’s social world. You were certain your eyes would soon dry out from a lack of entertainment. 

One of these events was a celebration. 

Your husband’s day of birth. 

When Lustere had first entered your life, now centuries ago, you had honestly been relieved. He had represented a chance at a new life, maybe even at love. Mostly, he had promised an escape from your father’s home. In that, at least, he had proved useful. Not so much for the rest. 

If you heard the voice of hope now, you would hardly recognize her. Her gentle song had died centuries ago, along with a part of your soul. 

As his day approached, you thought you ought to feel something, some joy, some excitement, perhaps some pride in the male he had become. All you could muster was a temporary damper for the decades of resentment. 

Luckily for you, you were in charge of the whole event, including the guest list. 

“Who do you want me to invite?” you asked him casually after dinner one night, well in advance of the event. 

Lustere sighed condescendingly, the sound score of your life. “Aren’t you supposed to be handling this? I’m so very busy these days.”

Your eyes crossed from your stacks of papers to where he was pouring his third drink of the evening. Busy indeed. 

“Of course, dear. I’ve got it covered, I just want to make sure I don’t leave anyone out.” Your tone was as sweet as the smile plastered to your face. 

“Don’t leave anyone out!” he urged you with your own words, as if it were a new thought for you to try out. “Invite everyone important.”

You bit back a bubbling retort, your sweet smile tasting sour. “I’ll see to it.”

“Good, good,” he mumbled dismissively. 

“It will be a lovely event; and, more importantly, no one who matters will be snubbed.” As you spoke the words, Lustere turned to you slightly– almost even looking at you. 

His face was set in a scheme, so he looked pained. “On second thought, maybe we could uninvite that one guy. You know, the courtier with the annoying wife?”

“We can’t uninvite them, not when they haven’t been invited yet.”

“Maybe their invite could get lost in the mail.” 

Your eye roll was internal, but you wished you could slap it into his mind. He never listened. 

“Consider it done,” you agreed.  

At least he was predictable. 

In his self importance, Lustere had asked you to ‘invite everyone important’. 

How convenient, you smiled to yourself as you penned another name on the provisional guest list. Azriel could easily be considered a most important guest.

One gift for yourself on your husband’s birthday. You’d earned it. 

✸✸✸ 

“What are they doing here?!”

For a second, your heart leapt to your throat. With a cordial smile, you turned away from the guests you’d been chatting to, only to face your husband’s hushed accusation. 

Lustere’s anger was rare, thank the Mother, so when it reared, you never knew what to expect.

“Who?”

You scanned the room; it was full of your husband’s acquaintances, colleagues, and enemies alike. 

“Her! And that shadowsinger!” his words were a flustered whisper. 

It was a different emotion that caused your heart to jump then. You followed his glance to find the male in question, linked arm in arm with the Morrigan. 

You swallowed a smug smile at your husband’s discomfort at her presence. 

Not that you could have known that he found her unsettling… but you’d certainly hoped. He nervously eyed the side of the room where she and the Illyrian made a frightening pair. Oh, that damned Illyrian. 

Your pulse quieted as you drank him in. 

If he would be the death of you, you’d only be grateful. 

Azriel looked devastating. His usual leathers had been exchanged for slightly more formal slacks. His siphons still gleamed, but his powers were reserved in accordance with the casual setting. He still looked intimidating as ever, while the blonde on his arm was just as fearsome in her gorgeous get up. 

“Oh!” you fumbled momentarily; your vision stuck across the room, your mind caught up in a particular tangle of sheets. “I saw you speak with him at that event last month, so I thought it might be a nice gesture to invite them. I didn’t honestly expect them to show up.”

“Well,” he smoothed his panic into a self-satisfied smile. Your palms itched. “It was a good thing I talked to them, then. Clever.” 

You knew the compliment was addressed to himself, not you. 

For an insufferable bastard, you sure suffered. 

“Have you greeted them yet?” his question grated you. 

“Not yet, I hadn't been made aware of their arrival–” 

“–Well, don’t wait too long, dear. You wouldn’t want to be rude, hm?”

With that, Lustere moved away to greet some other guests, but you only dimly registered the movement, his critique. 

Your eyes were focused on the shadowsinger. 

Azriel was here. 

And Mor was with him. 

Among your husband’s upper court colleagues, you’d gotten creative with who could reasonably be considered a part of his circles. If you could invite the Steward, surely the Overseer and her friends were fair game as well. You’d invited the lot of them, on that whim. As you approached them, you cursed yourself for your liberties with the guest list. 

You hadn’t seen Azriel since that fateful evening. The male rarely visited the city, and here he was, twice in as many months. Your gut roiled, you wished you’d had time to prepare. 

But you had prepared, you told yourself. You knew how to play this role, the hostess. It was one you’d mastered over the years.

It was easy to slip into now, thanks to centuries of playing the part.

Azriel and the Morrigan’s diffident eyes piqued with interest as you glided to stand before them with open palms. 

“Greetings to you both!” You presented yourself with a subtle bow, and they in turn introduced themselves. It was the picture of sophistication.

“It’s a pleasure to be officially introduced,” Azriel said, and his voice flowed like honey. 

His words were perfectly cordial, yet they sent a rush through you. 

You didn’t need to remind yourself; you were hyperaware of the fact that this was the first time you were formally meeting him, at least to the public.

Before you could answer him, Mor was sweeping in with artful compliments about the event, finishing with a resounding “-and you look divine.” 

Kindness suddenly made the daunting warrior glow, her face open and shining as her armor fell away to acknowledge your work. It was wonderful. You hoped your husband was watching. 

“Why, thank you. This old thing?”

You twisted to show off your garment, and your heart swelled to match her radiance. 

It was actually an old gown, pulled from the back of your closet. It was the dress you’d worn centuries ago, on your first anniversary with your husband. 

As you’d primped for tonight, he had even complimented it: “I like the new dress,” he had said. “You should wear things like that more often, it's far better than the usual sort you wear.”

You had bitten your tongue, but his words still stung. You should have known better than to have expected him to remember the dress. You weren’t sure why you’d chosen it for tonight. For some reason, it had felt auspicious when you’d seen it twinkling at the back of the wardrobe. 

“Oh, they don’t make them like they used to,” Mor said wistfully, eying the fine material. She was oblivious to how she had soothed the sore subject with her simple compliment. 

“They certainly don’t,” you agreed, and your eyes drifted to the shadowsinger. 

Through your daze, you gave them the welcome spiel, and pointed out some familiar faces that they could chat with.

“We’re honored to have you here, enjoy the evening,” you admonished with a genuine smile. You turned to continue your cycle through the room of guests, already spotting your next mark. 

“Where could we find a drink?”

Azriel’s words froze you in your tracks. Mor was agreeing with him, firing off her order for him to fetch. His eyes were on you. 

“I’ll show you.” 

The words escaped before you could think. 

He nodded and stepped towards you to follow your way. 

You didn’t move. 

He looked stunning up close. 

Several tendrils of dark hair had escaped the hold of his gel. His shadows were relegated to his wings, camping out like bats in a cave. You swallowed thickly, remembering how they had felt on your own flesh, how sensitive his wings had been to the slightest touch. 

During your welcome and introduction facade, his amber eyes had been stoic, an unreadable mask. Now, they flared briefly with confusion as you stayed paused.

It rocked you back into your body, your mind addled but present. 

“Yes, of course– this– this way.” 

Luckily, no one was paying attention to you, next to a presence so commanding as the spymaster’s. No one noticed your momentary lapse– no one except him. 

Azriel fought a smirk as you wove through the room together. 

His rough hand came to hover at your lower back, and you bit your tongue at the soft contact. 

“Here we are.” 

All too soon, you’d arrived at the bar. It was centrally located in the room, which was crowded, but not so crowded as to obscure the main attraction, especially not from eyes as keen as those of the spymaster... 

Azriel was casual as he ordered his and Mor’s drinks. 

“And a whiskey, neat.” 

Your eyes snapped to him, and he had long been looking at you. 

“For the generous hostess,” he murmured. 

You felt your cheeks heat, and you hoped no one would notice your blush. 

“Thank you.” You belatedly remembered your manners as he pressed the glass to you.

“I owed you one.”

Your mouth went dry. 

He was being bold. Anyone could have heard his little comment. 

The imposing Illyrian took a long drink out of the elegant vessel. Your mind flashed back to a different night, when his lips had been on another glass. Your pulse fluttered as you recalled the last time he had drunk from your husband’s collection, and the things he’d done to you after. Foggily, you wondered if this would prove a similar potion. 

He frowned at the dark liquid suddenly, before grunting, “Except technically, I suppose you’re funding this one, too.”

“Guess you owe me another one.” Your words were light, flirtatious, even as your lungs stuttered. 

“I’ll get my best people on it.”

At his wry humor, your laughter was breathless, hardly a wheeze

“Actually,” you winced, “this would be on my husband’s credit. As was the last bottle…”

“Ahh. And where is the male of the hour?”

You gestured broadly, shaking your head and rolling your eyes with impressive coordination as you took a gulp. Damn, the male knew how to order a drink. 

“Around. It’s his party.” 

When you caught his eyes again, it was clear he didn’t give a damn about the male of the hour. 

Heat flared in your chest as he pinned you with his gaze. Azriel’s eyes were heavy lidded as he watched you watch the room. He took another delicate sip of his wine. It was indecent, how perfectly his lips perched on the edge of the glass, how his tongue darted out to swipe at the liquid that stained them. 

“Speaking of which,” you said, and shook yourself out of reverie, “I’ve got to make the rounds. Enjoy the party.” 

He took his time watching you go before returning to lurk by Mor’s side. 

For you, the evening passed in a blur of greetings and introductions, false laughter and sparkling beverages. Desserts were passed around right on cue, just as the toasts were begun. You kicked them off, your toast to Lustere short in contrast to the tall tale it told. Just your style: brief and full of lies. 

Lustere’s grateful smile and kiss at its conclusion was just the same, an empty facade. At best, it was a convincing performance; at worst, it was still the best you could expect from your lifelong consolation prize. 

Once upon a time, if you’d tried, you could almost fool yourself into thinking it was real. But you'd since stopped fooling yourself; the trick had only worked the first few hundred years. 

Reality was the only vow you honored now. 

As Lustere’s friends and associates began to serenade him with vacuous praises, you slipped away from the crowd. It was a moment to check on the staff, see about how things were flowing and if they needed anything. 

Without looking, you felt someone’s eyes on you, as if in a concentrated beam. The intensity felt palpable. It was like a spotlight, even as you wove unnoticed through your own guests. 

Tonight wasn’t about you. You’d made sure it wouldn’t be. 

You grabbed a nearly empty tray of desserts from an attendant, directing them to pick up a full one from a table. You gestured towards the other side of the room with your free hand and a kind word as you moved towards the back rooms. 

“The room’s unbalanced, we need more trays over there– oh, shit.” 

You swore as you crashed into something. Firm hands steadied you reflexively before you could drop the dish. 

Your gut swooped as you turned to see what you’d wandered into. The platter was pressed between you and none other than the shadowsinger himself. If you didn’t know better, you’d say Azriel looked amused. 

“Careful there.”

“Sorry,” you gasped out. He waited a moment longer than necessary to release your arms. Slowly, you peeled away, angling the tray horizontal again. 

With horror, you noted the crushed pastries smashed into his elegant vest. 

“Cauldron boil me.” You were sure everyone could see your blush now. Luckily, the platter hadn’t dropped, so the accident hadn’t drawn much attention.  

“It’s fine–”

“–no, it’s not. Come with me. Quickly.”

You gripped his wrist. A quick glance told you that no one was looking. 

Only Mor had witnessed it, and she just snorted. At your clumsiness, or the droning speech being given at your backs for your ass of a husband, you didn’t know. 

You didn’t care. You had more pressing concerns at the moment, as you led the important guest from the main room to the small prep kitchen at the back of the venue.

“I’m really so sorry about this, sir,” you blustered as you swept into the tight space. Several attendants looked up from where they’d been arranging desserts on trays.

“Hey guys, we need more hands out there,” you addressed them. “The far side of the room is starving.” 

Dutifully, they picked up their trays while you ushered them along. 

“You should look where you’re going,” he commented, tentatively, as they all filed out of the kitchen, leaving you and Azriel alone. You wetted a rag, wringing it out before handing it to him to clean himself up. 

“Clumsy me,” you hummed. His jaw was tense as he swiped at the crumbs on his torso. It was kind of distracting.

“How have you been?” he asked without preamble, now that you were alone. 

You relaxed instantly at his casual tone. “Good.” It was hardly a lie. “Busy,” you amended. That was the full truth. 

“Nice event.” 

“Thanks.”

“He doesn’t deserve it,” Azriel cut abruptly. 

You snorted. 

“No one deserves this much pomp. It makes me sick.” Your eyes widened as you heard yourself. 

You’d been alone with Azriel for less than a minute, and here you were voicing your innermost, honest opinions. You had never shared anything like that with anyone, not even your husband, let alone this practical stranger. Yet the words were true, and you could hardly take them back. 

“Have you ever had a party like this?”

You cocked your head at his question before answering slowly. “Yes. Right now in fact.”

“No, I mean, something like this, but for you.” He said it so casually, focused still on wiping a smear of frosting from his clothes. 

“Oh.” 

Who would plan something like this for you? 

The answer was hollow, but definite. Nobody. 

Some of the society’s husbands did big parties for their anniversaries, their birthdays, whatever excuse they could find to buy liquor by the barrel. 

You’d had a lovely ceremony to officiate your relationship with Lustere, but that was it. How long ago had that been? Through a blur of centuries, you pictured the party. You’d planned it alone, and it had honestly been breathtaking. What a waste. 

“Um, no. Never,” you laughed, too loud. You didn’t need his pity. 

Azriel hummed, undeterred from creating a quiet moment with you. “Me neither. Every year though, my family insists on doing a special dinner. I wish they’d forget it, but since I refuse to do a whole thing like this,” he gestured around and widened his eyes in emphasis, ”I bear it annually.”

His words struck you funny. Your mouth continued ahead of your senses as you urged him, “You should let them.”

“What?”

He looked up at you in confusion, but you didn’t relax your knit brows.

“You should let them throw you a party.” Your conviction was sudden, but swift, and final. “You deserve to be celebrated, you should give them the chance.”

He dismissed your suggestion with a firm shake of his gorgeous head. “I’d hate it.”

“How do you know that?” you pressed. His face twisted in regret as his confession launched from his tongue. 

“‘Cause I hate this.”

“Yeah well, that makes two of us,” you admitted. 

His brows rose at that. If he’d expected you to sink any personal pride into the event, he was sorely mistaken. 

Then his eyes dipped to your toes before lazily arcing back up your figure, and his expression shifted from surprise to something less innocent.

“Surely you didn’t mind the excuse to pull out that damned dress.” 

You jumped on his playful tone. “Careful there, mister, I have a husband.”

Azriel’s laugh was just as irreverent as his next words, “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” 

His eyes crinkled as his lip curled in humor, and you liked the look of it on him. He wore all his faces so handsomely; menace, humor, lust. 

The latter of which was gradually blooming now, as if called into being by your imagination. His gaze still held a speck of humor, though at a lower pitch. There was mischief dancing in those hazel pools, dark and unmistakable as his eyes devoured you. 

The male slowly stroked the damp towel against his abdomen in a deliberate show. The cloth was as dirty as his vest now, covered in sugary smears. You couldn’t help but picture what you knew was under his shirt, the ink that whorled its way down his front, dipping below his waist. 

The silence was charged, the only sounds were the wet rustle of the towel and your own shallow, erratic breaths. 

His vest was as clean as it was going to get with such sloppy motions. Now he was just rubbing the stain in, so you grabbed it and took over, helping him brush away the last of the frosting. 

“This venue has a cloakroom, isn’t that ridiculous?” you feigned casual conversation as your heart raced, your fingers twitching at his stomach. “This whole city is under a mountain, there’s no weather. And no one has bothered with the custom of overcoats in centuries.” 

The words weren’t subtle, the hint bold faced and loaded. 

“You’re unbelievable,” he accused. Azriel shook his head even as a coy grin melted his hard features.

“Who, me?” you said innocently. He grabbed your wrist that was still swiping at his lower stomach. The frosting was long gone. 

“You planned this.” His words were definitive. 

It wasn’t a question, but your chin dipped in confirmation anyways. 

“Why?” he pushed.

“Why do you think?”

The venue had been a choice, as had the single perfumed invitation, as had the short staffing; all manufactured by you. It was all perfectly calculated, down to the timing of the toasts and the spill of the dessert tray. It had all been a part of the plan: your master plan to get him here, alone, in this very moment. 

Azriel swore as comprehension hit him, his mind wrapping around the totality of your little plot. Anxiety built in your gut. 

Was this foolish? Well, of course it was, but it really would be if he didn’t–

“Think you can keep quiet for me?”

The swelling panic in your chest melted instantly at his suggestive words, his voice a wicked rasp that set your skin on edge. Something bubbled in your chest, like an overeager gulp of champagne that wouldn’t settle. 

You arched your brow, “Can you?”

A shit eating grin broke on his face at the challenge, and he growled. 

“Do your worst.”

You matched his expression as something snapped between you. 

He used his free hand to angle you up to meet his lips in a hungry kiss. Every list, plan, plot, and scheme crumbled at the warmth of him, dissolving it all into sweetness. 

Every late night hour spent scheming had been worth it, just for this moment. His hot mouth on yours, your hands tangling in his hair. 

He shifted against you, and you gasped as you felt him hardening at your lower stomach. 

“Fuck, baby. This is all I could think about the second I walked in. You in this outfit… fuck,” he panted as your mouth shifted to taste his jaw. You whined into his skin as he ground against you, demanding some real friction. 

“You need me too? Or do you want to suck me off right here?” he growled. 

Arousal flooded your core at his dominant tone. You pulled back to look him in the eye. His pupils were blown out, his lips swollen. 

“Not here,” you pleaded. 

His look was wicked as he saw your reaction, but he didn’t push you. 

Instead, he allowed you to lead him through a different door, a few steps down a hallway, and into a small room. You sent a silent blessing to whatever architect included a much disused cloakroom in the venue’s design. Well, much disused until now. 

The instant the door closed, his lips were locked on yours. 

“Eager?” he teased hypocritically between rapid kisses as you fumbled blindly for his belt. 

“I’m sort of multitasking,” you panted. 

His brow arched.

“I’m running this show!” you explained hurriedly. “The toasts just started, but they won’t go on forever. Eventually someone might come looking for us, or me at least.” 

His mouth fell open, but you cut him off.

“Don’t look so worried, Azriel, we’re right on schedule.”

The male huffed out a laugh, and shook his head. By the light in his eyes, he was impressed. 

“You’re killing me, baby. You’ve been killing me all night.” His words were a groan. 

He said it like an accusation, so you retorted in kind, “Yes, and I’ve been planning for a month to get twenty damn minutes alone with you because I’ve been totally balanced and not at all because you’ve been killing me just the same.”

That shut him up. 

He sucked in a breath, and his face set with determination. 

“Well, then,” he said. “I guess I’m going to have to show you a good time.”

He wasted no time reattaching his lips to yours, this time with renewed fervor, before he pressed you against the wall. One of his rough hands came to grip your neck, angling your head perfectly for his strong jaw to set to work. Between his hard body and his looming wings, you were caged. His palpable power sent a thrill through you, rattling to your gums and winding right to your center. 

Deftly, he undid his belt in one swift movement with his other hand. You whined as you felt the leather smack briefly across your thighs as it fell to the floor.

You felt his hum through his tongue on your teeth. 

“Another time, maybe we’ll use that.”

“Oh gods,” you whined. 

His grip on your hips was like a vice, and your pulse was a riot under his rough fingers on your throat. 

“Maybe I’ll have Rhys throw a fête here instead of the main hall for my birthday this year,” he murmured darkly against your lips. 

You gasped and his tongue swept in again, muffling your pleas. His taste was as intoxicating as you recalled, the flavor of wine and salt heavy on his thick tongue. 

“Would you like that?” Azriel pressed. “Maybe you’d even let me taste you, hmm?” 

“Anything,” you moaned as his wet mouth replaced his hand along the column of your throat. “I’d plan the damn party just to get you alone for five minutes.”

His teeth scraped bluntly at your jugular as he grinned. 

“I thought party planning was a special privilege, only to be enjoyed by a female’s husband,” he teased. 

“You’re right, that would be downright improper. I’m not that kind of girl.”

His chuckle at your collarbone was sinful, the sound of it echoing down to your core. 

“No, no. I wouldn’t want to taint your honor.”

“No,” you echoed absently as he placed open mouthed kisses along the neckline of your dress. It was a light fabric, but it was suddenly smothering. Your skin burned; you were desperate for more contact. His heavy hands and scalding mouth weren’t enough.

“Please, Az,” you urged. 

His belt was undone, as were the top buttons of his vest, but the two of you were decidedly too decent. It would hardly even make a scandal at this point, to be caught fully clothed. 

“You want it?” he glanced up from your chest, spit straying along his sharp jaw. He growled, “You can have it, baby. I’ll be generous, after all I didn’t bring a gift.”

You only whined as his hands smoothed down your form. 

With a final kiss to the exposed tops of your breasts, the Illyrian knelt to the floor. 

Azriel looked debauched; his carefully groomed hair a mess from your hands, his vest askew, and his eyes blown with lust. His powerful chest was heaving as his hands carefully skimmed up your calves. He pushed the bottom of your dress over your knees, kissing the soft spot inside there. He continued to mouth at your thighs as he hiked your skirt up.

For all your careful planning, you had no remaining nerve to urge him to hurry. His tender handling was addicting, the closest thing to appreciation you’d felt in decades. And to feel it so intensely, so viscerally, so physically? It hardly felt fair to call it a vice. 

What others took for granted, you could only indulge in the dark closets of your own life. If you’d be damned to be blamed, then so be it. 

Because Azriel looked like a statue on his knees for you. His composition was darkness and light, pleasure and pain, right and wrong. In this moment, he was a blissful concoction of it all, and you wanted to drink every last drop. 

 “You look lovely tonight," he praised with a kiss to your inner thigh. The compliment was almost jarringly polite paired with his next move, as he lewdly brought a finger to press over your clothed core. The fire that had burned low in your belly was stoked at the contact, flaring to a throbbing need. 

With swift fingers, he pulled your undergarment down your legs before slyly stuffing them into his pocket. 

“Fuck,” he groaned as he dragged two digit through your soaked folds. “Even prettier than I remembered.”

You choked back a moan as he drew circles over your clit. It was torturous, and as his large wings blocked the rest of the dim room from your vision, you felt the thrill of his overwhelming power, his meticulous skill. 

One of your hands wove into his hair, the grip both imploring and terrorized as he sparked wave after wave of pleasure until he was satisfied with your near broken state. Your other hand skimmed down his chest when he eventually stood before you. 

At the scrape of your nails towards his need, he groaned, “That’s right, baby. You want to take it out for me?”

With shaking hands, you undid his slacks. He hissed as you freed his aching member, his tip angry and swollen already. 

He dragged himself over your glistening folds torturously for a brief moment. You whimpered and he laughed darkly before he lined himself up, teasing you with the barest pressure of his tip. 

You clawed at his shoulders, his hips, trying to urge him to get to it. With one of his hands holding your hip, and the other balanced on the wall beside your head, Azriel was the picture of leisure. 

He had no sense of urgency about these things, you were learning. 

“Gonna let me have my way with you, huh? That’s a good girl.”

Slowly, he pushed himself inside, bottoming out in one brutal stroke. You cried out and he slapped a rough hand over your mouth. Your eyes flashed wildly as he began to fuck you in earnest.

“That’s it. Take my cock like a good girl.” he growled. 

He set a punishing pace, finding his own sense of urgency at last. He filled you so perfectly, the stretch just right. The scrape over your spongy walls was agonizing as he pummeled you. One particular harsh thrust had you crying out again, muffled against his fingers. 

“Gotta be quiet, baby, can’t have anyone finding us like this.”

His expectation was impossible when he abruptly yanked your top down so your breasts spilled out. 

“Happy birthday Lustere, alright,” he groaned sarcastically before sucking one of your breasts into his mouth. 

You dissolved into another whimper at his wicked words and the warmth of his mouth on your tender flesh. 

“You’re bad,” you moaned as the sick sound of your sex filled the tight room. 

If this was bad, maybe the world had it backwards, because why did it feel so good? Why did you feel so complete, falling apart shoved against a wall in a closet at your husband’s party? Especially with a male you should hardly be on a first name basis with, let alone close enough to moan his so unabashedly.

That was all it was, you elected to believe. The secrecy, the illicit nature of the connection. That was the basis of its appeal. 

Not the particular partner, though he was rugged…

And he was charming… 

And his teeth were ghosting your neck in a way that made you want to scream… 

But of course, you could hardly whimper at full volume. It only made you want to yell more. The resulting noise was a breathy strangulation, more vibration than real exhalation. 

“Azriel,” you cried, and you felt him twitch inside you.

His hips snapped faster and the light in his eyes was wild. 

“Are you close, angel? Fuck, we’ve gotta be fast.” He made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob. “It’s so twisted. All I want is to take my time with you. Look at you, doing so well for me.”

His praise was as invigorating as his thrusts, which were growing sloppier with each breath. His stamina wasn’t the issue, it was the waves of pleasure numbing his body that caused him to tremble before you. 

You clenched around him and he swore, gasping as his body stilled. Azriel pressed his forehead to yours as he came, and somehow it was more intimate than you were prepared for, your fingers threading through his damp hair. 

His lashes fluttered shut and his mouth parted, gone wretched with bliss. The feeling of his hot breath and sticky skin on your face made you want to kiss every inch of his flesh. 

Even as he pulsed inside you, he brought his thumb to rub tight circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves. In moments, he had you coming undone as well. He quickly regained enough function to fuck you through it, his thrusts shaking. When you cried his name, he caught it with his mouth, stifling your crude noises as you convulsed around him. 

The sensation had him half hard again, but he pressed a kiss to your throat and held you still as you both came down from your highs. 

“Happy birthday to me,” you muttered into his cheek.

Azriel wheezed at that, an arrogant smirk winning out through his fatigue. “Was that worth it?” 

“Definitely,” you breathed, your fingers brushing his hair back into some semi respectable waves. 

Ignoring your efforts to put the two of you back together, he captured your face in his hands and planted a buzzing kiss on your mouth. He lingered longer than you expected, tasting you and savoring your warmth. 

“Okay, Azriel, time’s up,” you sighed after an indulgently long moment. 

He nodded, but held your face a moment longer before tapping your hips twice and sliding himself out. You both groaned at the absence, bodies still slick and buzzing. 

As he tucked himself away, he looked oddly contemplative for someone who had just had a quickie in a closet while on the job. 

You smoothed down your dress, disregarding your missing underwear. It’s not like anyone would notice, least of all your husband, who hadn’t approached you like that for decades. 

While you did your best to tame your wild hair, Azriel looked like he was far away. You tried to hurry, mistaking his distance for discomfort in the aftershock of the interaction. In moments, you were fully decent, and at least mostly presentable. 

Azriel paused you with a silent gesture as your hand met the door. A shadow slipped back in and around his ear, and he nodded. 

The pair of you slunk back down the hall to the still empty kitchen, and you tried not to think about the slick still mixing on your upper thighs under your dress. 

Before you could push on to reenter the party, the shadowsinger grabbed your arm. His expression was serious when you faced him

“I want to hire you.”

You laughed at his bizarre words. What was he implying? “What, you want me to plan your birthday party? I’m not sure if you can afford me.”

He joined your laughter, and you threw away your whole schedule at the sound. Surely you could allow yourself an extra moment here with him. All that was waiting was worthless, anyways. 

“You know, I'd actually love to see that,” he smiled. The simple gesture made your insides heave, which you attributed to the recent intrusion on your guts. 

You wiped your eyes, attempting to tame your doubtlessly ruined cosmetics as you joked with him. You weren’t sure why, but you needed to hear that laugh again. “It’ll be a hit. We’ll only serve whiskey and there will be no food so everyone gets blasted way too hard– ooh, and the servers will be in their undershorts–”

“–I can't wait,” he cut you off. “But that’s not what I meant.”

“Okay,” you sobered up at his tone. “What then?”

“Well, you obviously have some covert skills…” 

Well, you think, that’s one way to describe centuries of spying on your cheating piece of shit husband, and more recently, coordinating this… whatever this was.

“...And you can arrange a seamless rendezvous,” he continued, now listing your achievements on his roughened fingers.

 You blushed at the innuendo, still lost to his meaning. 

“...And your husband works under the least trustworthy son of a bitch I've ever met,” he finished. 

“So?”

“You're in a unique position,” Azriel explained cryptically. 

Your brows scrunched. You hadn’t had anything but a sip of champagne since the sip of whiskey earlier, yet you were thinking through a thick haze. All you could think of were innuendos about unique positions…  

“A unique position for what?” you asked.

“As an informant, of course. You could be very useful.” The words were casual, but you saw how his amber eyes were set with strange emotion as he extended the offer in a deep tone. 

Azriel’s words echoed in your mind, hollow to anything else. You could be very useful. 

Something surged through you at the word. 

Useful.

You could be useful.

Very useful. 

How long had you grieved of the uselessness of your work, the incessant, all encompassing meaninglessness of your labors? How empty it all was, how vacant each day left you. How fruitless too; all these years, giving yourself over to nothing, and winning nothing in return. 

You swallowed the emotion rising at your throat, and a grin bloomed on your face in its wake. 

“What do you need me to do?” 

✸✸✸ 

“Where have you been?”

For all your scheming, your husband’s voice wiped your mind blank. Voices whirled around you, echoing happy and careless in the large room.

“Lustere, I–”

“–There’s empty platters out here, it looks cheap.” You blinked as he looked around in annoyance. “Aren’t you going to do anything about that?”

Leave it to him to interrupt you. You needn’t have prepared such an elaborate excuse for your absence when you couldn’t even get a word in. 

And sure enough, just as you’d planned and predicted, you hadn’t been missed. 

“Of course, dear.”

He only gave you a curt nod. Before he could turn away completely, you found yourself reaching out with a gentle hand, and something akin to affection slipped into your tone. “Are you enjoying yourself, Lustere?”

There was no tenderness as he looked in shock at your hand on his arm, only confusion. 

“Of course,” he said in a self-evident tone. Your husband looked around the room, cataloguing the faces of his guests. “Everyone important is here.”

Your fingers on his arm went numb. Everyone important had been there.

Only you hadn’t been there. 

You had been three doors away, wrapped up in darkness with another man. 

Despite his ignorance, what Lustere said was true: everyone important to him had been there, everyone who mattered. 

Just not you. 

The tenderness curdled in your chest. Whatever short candle you held for Lustere, died in that moment. And yet, ever the good wife, you dutifully nodded at the side of his head. 

“Good. I'll go fix the attendants.” And see if they haven’t picked up any good gossip from this high profile crowd… 

Something warmed inside your chest as you felt the ghost of your promise to Azriel still fresh on your lips. Your game with him had expanded, in one breath. 

No longer were you nothing to him, to anyone. 

You were to be the spymaster’s eyes and ears on the corrupt inner workings of the Court of Nightmares. 

And you had nothing to lose. 

✸✸✸ 

ENDNOTES

Thank you for reading!! Please comment if you enjoyed it, I actually spend quite a bit of time on these haha so I love to hear from youuu. I also love to chat in my inbox or dms so don’t be shy!! I’d love to hear what you think is gonna happen next.. ;)

I fear I have made this plot far FAR too elaborate than cheating smut would sensibly demand. So! Stay tuned for at least two or three more parts of angst and smut and fluff!! HAHA!! 

Oh and Lustere should fuckin’ watch himself… lest a terrible accident befall him… sooo whose knife should it be team?? >:))

[luiluvr]

all the stars — luigi mangione

first non-request fic :p …😓😓 this may be more than one part idk idk LMK IF U GUYS ARE INTERESTED!!! this is also highschool!luigi so it’s sfw :3

WARNINGS: none! just a fluff fic 🤍 female!reader, uses of y/n, alternates between luigi’s & reader pov.. proofread but if there’s mistakes lmk! :D

SUMMARY: on a field trip, you happen to bump into some prestigious, all-boys school. one of those boys has been admiring you since you stepped inside, and it’s probably love at first sight—for him.

Luigi’s efforts of staying single and focusing on graduation had been excellent. Sure, he pondered the wonderful world of love his buddies described- as they spoke on their loving, gorgeous girlfriends. He never got to that point, even when a girl did try and talk to him, he was too nervous—despite his occasional, cheesy pick up lines and natural charisma; deep down he didn’t think he was a good ‘other half.’ His friends encouraged him to meet someone, or go on a blind date with one of their girlfriend’s friends, but he refused. It wasn’t a waste of time rather it was his own nerves kicking his ass when he actually liked someone.

And oh boy, were those nerves kicking in now.

He was still in high school—specifically his senior year. It may not be much to other students; but he sees it as his final opportunity to excel and show his potential to the colleges he wanted to attend. No time for a relationship in that chaos, right?

Wrong.

He was staring down the prettiest girl he’d ever seen in his entire life. Right now. On this field trip. He wasn’t sure if it was the gray zip-up sweater, or if it was really warm inside. All he knew was he saw you.

You were so pretty with your knitted sweater and maroon-colored skirt. If he could he would’ve just dropped to his knees right there in front of you. He was in over his head, he didn’t know your name, but he already fell in love with you. Just by your smile you flashed to probable friends, the way you inspect the paintings in the museum, the way your eyes flutter as you listen intently to the tour guide.

Everything about you is perfect.

He exhaled shaky, he felt like a creep for staring so hard. He might’ve gazed a hole in the back of your head if he kept on. His buddy Grady noticed—he grins and elbows Luigi, “Staring’s considered rude, Luigi.” He laughs quietly as to not disturb the tour. “Oh shut up, Grady.” Luigi mumbles. Grady was an A-Class, nosey-ass; but Luigi liked him. He could be fun to have around sometimes. “She’s just really pretty.”

Grady pointed at you, with your little clutch in hand, “The one in the sweater?” Luigi nodded. “She looks like she fell right out of a painting.” He says.

Grady chuckles, bumping him again, “You’re whipped, dude.”

“So what? I can like a pretty girl if I want.” He says defensively.

“Never said you couldn’t. It’s just odd for you.” Well he wasn’t lying… Luigi sighed, “I know.” He continues walking forward, then Grady leans next to his ear as he’s inspecting some little archive. “You should go talk to her. The tour’s gonna end soon, she isn’t gonna notice if you don’t say something.”

Unfortunately, Grady was right. Very right. Luigi pushed forward, shoving his hands in his jean pockets—trying to reach where you were near the front. He did. You weren’t even a foot away, you looked so beautiful. His mouth went dry, he rubs his arm as you’re reading over the description of some rock or fossil, whatever. He clears his throat softly, moving a tad bit closer to you.

You take notice, assuming he wants to read as well. “Sorry.” You said quietly. He shakes his head, putting a hand up, “No, no worries, you’re not doing anything.” He flashed a gentle smile, you nod, glancing back at the text. Come on Luigi, get it together! He breathes out and reaches a hand out, nervously. “I’m Luigi.”

“Y/N,” you replied. He was pretty cute, he had a firm handshake that showed confidence and his hazel eyes glimmered. “I hope I’m not bothering you, I wanted to talk to you before we all leave. I think you’re—absolutely beautiful and I’m hoping.. maybe if you’re okay with it, I can have your number and we could hang out the rest of the tour?” He grins anxiously. It was so endearing to you. It was rare for a high school boy to be this nervous and giddy to ask for your number; and to be so respectful about it too?

“Sure, I don’t mind, That sounds nice actually.” You returned a kind smile and he handed you his phone discreetly for the tour guide’s sake and you punched in your contact info. Saving yourself as Y/N—what else would it be? “Awesome…” He murmured. “So, Y/N, how old are you?”

“Seventeen,” you state. “You?”

“Same—seventeen. I turn eighteen in May.” He says proudly, “Happy early birthday. Even though that’s… Four months away.” You chuckle, the two of you begin walking along with the groups, he had his hands in his pockets, while yours were folded behind your back.

The conversation continued, friendly banter and getting to know each other. He attended an all-boys school out in Maryland. Far from here. He was incredibly smart too, he spoke high of his achievements and he wanted to attend UPenn — a very impressive school. It made sense for him though. Looks and smarts aside, he was a realistic guy — for a teenager anyway. It was a relief talking to someone the same speed as you, who was just enjoying life and working to achieve what satisfies them.

He was also into robotics, he even complained a little about how his robot lost a recent competition and that he told the coach he should’ve been given the remote — but no one listened to him!

“That’s inspiring.” You say, and he just grins. He has such a sweet smile too. His cheeks have little dimples, the way his eyes squint and crease at the corners, he shrugs nonchalantly, “It’s nothin’ really, just trying to stay caught up.” He states, glancing around, he thinks before motioning you closer. “Wanna see something cool?”

“What do you mean?” You questioned, he tips his head to the side, gesturing to follow him. However, you don’t think it’s the smartest idea to wander off from the group in a building like this; but Luigi insisted. “I’ve been on this tour a bunch of times, trust me, we’ll be fine. Come on now.” He ushers you, grabbing your hand as the other kids walked on without second glances. You both share a bit of laughter as you moved briskly in the direction he lead you — subconsciously squeezing your hand every now and then. As he slowed down, he pushed open a door, you got distracted reading a flyer outside and he immediately tugged you inside, the door shutting behind your back.

He watches your expression intensely as you look around, it’s a planetarium. The ceiling was casted with a starry sky, although—most likely—not real time stars, it looked gorgeous anyway. It cast a soft light, the room mainly dim.

Luigi admired you as you admire the stars. “Even if it isn’t the sky right now, it’s fascinating to think that all the stars can look like this.” You murmur, finally looking at Luigi, who’s still watching you with a big, dorky smile. “What?” You laugh.

“Nothing. Just admiring the view.” He replies.

“The one up there’s nicer, you know”

“Yeah, but the one right in front of me is better.”

[anonymous-dee]

My Top 5 Scum Villain Ships

5.CumPlane

There’s just something so silly about them. I love the way they bicker and banter, and you can’t deny the obvious shitpost potential of them both coming from the real world.

I fucking love the memes where they’re speaking in brainrot to each other and all the other peak lords are like 🤨❓

4. MoShang

They make me so mad fr. I stand with SQH as a child of divorce so yk, I can’t be too upset with him. BUT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD THEIR ABANDONMENT TRAUMAS LOVE TO CLASH CONSTANTLY AND IT’S SO DJFJDJF 🍽️ I hate it so much *desperately filling my plate with fics and fan art and headcanons and—*

3. JiuYuan / ScumCum

Another ship w the sillies. One of my favorite dynamics with JiuYuan is Shen Yuan being like “ugh” but then realizing how broken Shen Jiu is and then going “sigh, I can fix him…” and then he DOES fix him and it’s sweet and cute and perfect.

And yk, I think it’s so important for Shen Jiu to experience kindness and gentle touch and actual love, and it’s like YEAH I love the drama of QiJiu and LiuJiu, but with QiJiu it doesn’t hit the same because in order for it to work in a /gen way, Yue Qingyuan has to have his redemption arc and regain Shen Jiu’s broken trust.

I still do ship LiuJiu ans QiJiu, but ScumCum is just more wholesome in my eyes.

With Shen Yuan, there was no original betrayal, he just comes out of the transmigration oven with warm hands and healing vibes. For the most part.

I like that they are both also similar in a hater way too. If you think about it, they’re both 100% capable of going on the BEST RANTS and being a hater and I just KNOW they have the BEST debriefs after seeing the others do questionable things in public. Yk, they give each other the 👀 “are u seeing this shit” look knowing fully well they are both gonna have a 2 hour mutual ted talk about the absolute audacity.

You also gotta love the dynamic of Tsundere (soft) and Tsundere (will kill a bitch). Because on one hand Shen Yuan has to have his gay awakening so he’s in denial for a hot minute. And then you have Shen Jiu who’s ALSO in denial—probably also in the closet bc he has to overcome his mental block of fearing/despising all men before he can become open to the idea of allowing one man.

#not all men #actually yes, all men #just not that one in particular #yeah him, the fucking twink in the back

And then you can easily end up with a dynamic where both of them realize their feelings and it turns into

SJ: god shen yuan is so fucking annoying (wasn’t allowed to kill someone)

NPC: yeah I hate that guy

SJ: what the FUCK did you just fucking say

I love them thanks.

2. BingLiuShen

**CREDIT BOTH OF THESE BEAUTIFUL ART PIECES TO SAIRUSB AND CHECK OUT THEIR PAGE THEIR ART IS AMAZING**

Slot number 2 goes to BingLiuShen. Everyone repeat after me: SHEN QINGQIU HAS TWO HANDS!

I think the most interesting part about any Poly ship is the multitude of dynamics; it’s more than just SQQ x LQG x LBH. It’s also BingQiu. It’s also LiuShen. It’s also…uh, BingLiu(?) for the life of me I cannot remember if that’s their ship name, BUT ANYWAY.

Each of these individual dynamics has its own individual charm that gets explored once you start overlapping them together. You have the base with some delicious seasoning if you will.

Not gonna lie, it was a 100% tag team effort between SairusB and Celardor that initially sold me on BingLiuShen.

I love Luo Binghe being a menace, Shen Qingqiu being ‘:3’, and Liu Qingge being shy and not used to romance at all. Not that any of them really are, but I love how many ways you can play around with this specific concept, which I will elaborate on more in the next part of the post.

(Anyone who knows me, you know who I’m putting in the number 1 slot)

Everyone please read Sharing is Caring / Love in Another Shape by Celardor on ao3 that fic literaly altered by brain chemistry and it’s so fucking good please believe me PLEASE

1. LiuShen

**CREDIT THIS BEAUTIFUL ARTWORK TO VELINXI, THE ARTIST FOR THE ENGLISH VERSION OF SVSSS**

My beloveds. My silly little guys. My pretty scrimblos. My mipys. Ft. the art that got me to See The Vision™️ for the first time.

Love that we get LiuShen art in the official artstyle btw, I will never shut up about it bc Velinxi’s art is so gorgeous and I cherish everything she draws so so so dearly.

LiuShen is so special to me. I’ve talked about it several times before on my blog but I just love their dynamic so much. Somehow despite both being tsunderes (well, idk if I count SQQ as a FULL tsundere, but still) they end up being so soft with one another it’s so fucking wholesome.

As much as I do enjoy BingQiu, I say as it did not make the top 5 list LMFAO I absolutely love how many ways there are to write LiuShen. Given that SQQ is ship silly putty already, it really does provide the opportunity for endless fun.

There are fics where both of them are self aware of how they feel, there are fics where neither of them are. There are fics where one of them realzies they like the other and have no shame about it. And BOTH are equally as entertaining. I love ‘:3 Liu shidi is pretty I wanna touch him’ fics just as much as I love ‘>:( I’m gonna bring Shen Yuan courting gifts and challenge him to a fight to express my devotion’ ones.

And then you have the fics where one of them is oblivious and accidentally ends up married to the other—I’ve seen it go both ways and it’s perfect every time I swear to god.

Props to Celardor AGAIN because I think they perfectly balance the tsundere and soft vibes between the two. The fic “Sharing is Caring” goes beyond just the silly wife plot it starts out as. It deadass goes from “teehee silly wife plot” to “let’s actually explore the dynamic and the world and the plot beyond just this silly adventure”

Celardor said “I think I see potential here” and both parts of the fic series amount to 254,349 words AND COUNTING BC PART 2 ISN’T DONE YET.

Okay this isn’t a fic review this is a SHIP review so setting Celardor’s fic hesitantly aside, it’s sort of hard for me to explain how much they make me happy but I just love the blushy x blushy dynamic so much LET THEM BE SHY AND SOFT TO EACH OTHER AAAAH

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

What is your favorite SVSSS ship?

[lonelysheepling]

Recently read @queenofthequillandink ’s DPxDC crossover fic Unearthed, Reborn

I got inspired to draw character sheets for Danny, Sam, Jason, and Jazz’s vigilante personas. Here’s a link to the author’s drawings of their outfits (these were a vital reference for me when doing this so thank you so much for sharing them Quill) More commentary (like 7+ paragraphs plus 2 images) about this project and the designs below the “keep reading” line.

None of these thoughts I have for each character are in order, but I have a lot of commentary for these since this project was a lot more conceptual than my normal work. I also just like talking about my art/design process. If you ever find yourself wondering at some point why an element from the original design wasn’t included, the answer is that the removal was completely intentional and part of my grandmaster vision for this work and wasn’t because I just forgot about it entirely during the design process.

————————————————————————

Aconite (Sam)

This was the first one I sketched out, I wasn’t even sure at the time if I was going to fully commit to drawing all of them. I thought that Sam was gonna be the hardest since her description was way longer than the others, but then bird boy beat her out. I took a lot of creative liberties with her design, the bag was added bc I couldn’t figure out how to add pockets to the skirt. I was trying to avoid a joker color scheme so I had a lot of ref images that I got by searching like “purple green aesthetic” on Pinterest. The dark purple and dark forest/blueish green won out in the end. I desaturated a lot of my colors for her just to get as far away from the neon Gotham rogue aesthetic. I also added the bdsm harness over the armor to add more punk elements to her design, I know that in real life that would be very uncomfortable to wear over scalemail armor but sometimes we take creative liberties when they look sick as fuck. Also, I didn’t realize until I went to look for a reference for aconite flowers that aconite is wolfsbane! That was neat to learn! Also, the font I used for Aconite is called “zai Art School Calendar 1931”, I’ve used this a few times for other projects, it’s one of my favorite fonts. The ‘zai’ fonts the creator has are all very good.

Shade (Danny)

There wasn't much to add to this page. His outfit is pretty simple (besides the patterning). I wasn’t sure how to pull of an optical illusion pattern but I was reminded how I sometimes get an eyestrain induced headache when looking at someone wearing a patterned shirt with really thin stripes so I just leaned into the idea of a small/detailed hard lined pattern. I originally made 5 separate patterns for him and then turned them into stamp brushes in procreate. I only ended up using three of them, the one on the chest, the one on the legs, and the one on his hand. But, I imagine the patterns fade and shift when he moves, sort of like a lenticular print. I gave him constellation freckles and stylized the hair’s fade into white. The hair was inspired by how time-woods draws Martin Blackwood’s hair (linked: time-woods’s fanart of Martin Blackwood). Also put way too much effort into the teeth on the mask. I just like the chunky teeth design. Oh yeah and the font I used for him is called “Typewriter_Condensed_Demi”

Erinys (Jason)

Repeatedly ran into the issue of not having enough canvas space bc of my fervent need to thoroughly document and plan out how the wings worked. I also reversed the colors for the bodysuit & armor so the under layer was black while the armor plates were red. I only realized afterwards that I may have been inspired by the red centipedes in Rain World (linked: gif of the red centipede, don’t click the link if you’re unsettled/afraid of bugs/insects), artists subconsciously draw inspiration from other artists all the time though so I’m not like upset about it. I stand by it because it looks sick as hell. Also leaned into the magpie theming for the wings. I think the vigilante form was supposed to be reverse magpie coloring? I can’t remember, but I stuck with normal magpie coloring. The anatomy of how the wings connected to the collarbone was inspired by JayEaton’s Magpie Bridge Project. Reference image link. Link to the article the image is from. I didn’t draw the wing armor because I couldn’t figure out how to would work with the wing anatomy and I ran out of canvas space. Finally, the font used for him is “DIN Condensed” this is a default font, I would’ve used something more punk but I needed the text to be legible.

Insight (Jazz)

I did Jazz after I’d already finished the initial trio, so I had to switch to a new canvas for her bc I’d hit the layer limit multiple times on the previous one. I really do love doing that spiked under-eyelash thing with characters. Don’t know when that started. Anyway, I added the shoulder pads to her outfit to help break up the empty space. The golden eyes were a nice accent color since her design is very overwhelmingly green. Honestly the braid hairstyle and gold eyes really do obscure her identity, multiple times when drawing her I was worried that she didn’t really resemble Jazz enough. There wasn’t a drawing from the author for her so I only had the text description to go off of. I just realized that she sort of reminds me of a forest ranger and I don’t know what to do with that realization. I copy/pasted my drawing of her eyes when gold and recolored them to match her normal eye color. There were two layers for that, a hue shift and a hard light layer to emphasize the shadows.

Here’s what it looks like without the hue shift: 

It looks really cool and I’m 100% that color combo in another drawing down the line. Oh yeah and the font used for this sheet was “Euphemia UCAS”. It comes with Apple’s operating system, I use it as a neutral default text most of the time bc it’s nicer than helvetica but not overly fancy like Times New Roman—and why am I talking about fonts. ——————————————————————— Anyway, this project was very fun to work on. The alt text for this was its own endeavor, hope the folks using screen-readers don’t mind 4-5 paragraphs of description text. Also, I cannot remember for the life of me if Dani got a costume description, but if she does I’ll make sure to update this image set with a sheet for her. And to the author, QueenOfTheQuill, if you’re reading this message that I’ve left at the very bottom of this post below a read more line, thank you for the fic. It’s very good and I’m glad I caught it during my slow decent into DPxDC brainrot. I love the interactions between Jason and Tim, it’s nice seeing a revived Jason that’s not bogged down by pit rage. They definitely seem like they could’ve been good friends if not for the unfortunate circumstances that led them to meet in canon. Also, I’m sure Jazz will love interacting with Batman and Nightwing. So much psychological & childhood trauma to unpack with them. Feel free to use/share these images if you so desire and thanks again for your work.

[23swife]

IN MY VEINS — gojo satoru

part one, you and satoru have been going through a rough patch, but since you can’t have that, you find a way to get back to the way you used to be, but you didn’t know that more problems would arise | 4.7k

fem!reader, established relationship (dating), lots of angst, megumi deserves love, hurt/comfort, fluff, lingerie, kissing, talks of marriage, not proof-read, very last part is a kind of sneak peak into a fic with megumi within the same universe (it’s also x reader but for the purpose of this story, i made it third person)

in my veins.

gojo’s mission goes flawlessly, like it always does, and you’re left alone in your house while he debriefs the higher ups. usually, he doesn’t care what they want, will ignore them and run into your arms, exhausted from being away from you ( never because of whatever the mission was, he is the strongest, after all).

but this time, it’s like he wants to be away from you, which just can’t be the reason, right? sure, you’ve both been more irritable than usual, even megumi has noticed, he asked if you and gojo are taking a small break and that’s why you haven’t invited him for sunday dinners twice in a row. 

ever since you became a part of gojo’s life, you made it a kind of tradition to have dinner at you and your boyfriend’s house with megumi, one that you’re always beyond excited to cook; sometimes you’ll even ask one, or both, of the boys to help and it quickly became one of your favourite days. but for the past two weeks, your boyfriend had cancelled and you took the brunt of it, telling megs you just don’t have time. you don’t want him to think it’s because of him, you know he can’t talk about his feelings but if he finds out gojo is cancelling, he’ll think he’s at fault and you can’t have that.

something had to change, this is eating at you in a way you didn’t know was possible, so you decide to try and fix it. for the first time in almost a month, you finally make an effort to end whatever the hell this is, you don’t even remember how it started, you just know that satoru comes home annoyed and takes it out on you, and because you’re stubborn as hell, you always give it back. that changes tonight, though.

you go to your room, find a brand new set of lingerie that’s long enough to cover your entire body while not actually covering anything. it’s the only thing you’d be comfortable wearing incase it escalated into a fight again. you can’t just walk around in a bra and underwear while you’re both yelling— though you’re praying it doesn’t come to that. you really need to stop having a pessimistic view on things, hopefully gojo will come back from his mission happy. 

you cooked something very basic from your hometown, not at all japan, so it’s always a different experience for him, but more often than not, he enjoys it. and you’re dressed, you have light makeup on; this gonna work. you’ve even stowed away your stubbornness for another day, he deserves a quiet evening.

when you hear the door open, you’re in your bedroom, applying the last of your gloss. you take a deep breath, check your hair one last time, and walk out. the short hallway means in two steps you can see satoru, taking off his shoes with a groan and throwing them near the shoe rack. you bite back your tongue on telling him for the nth time that he has to put them in the damn rack. 

“‘toru,” you smile, walking over to him. when he looks up, evidently tired so you’re sure he’s about to say he’s going to rest, he pauses on you. he lets his shoe fall down from his foot and leans his body back so it hits the wall. “hey, how was the mission?” you ask, genuinely interested. you’ve always cared to know about his job, you’ve always made an effort to understand jujutsu and what he goes through and just overall hear him out.

when you’re close enough to touch, he doesn’t waste time to reach out, both hands holding your waist tightly. “god, baby.” he pulls you in, resting his head in your neck, breathing you in and smelling the perfume he bought you a few years ago. it’s middle eastern, so fucking strong and feminine. he loved it immediately and when he got it for you and told you how much it cost, you swore to only use a drop once a year. you stayed true to your promise, even if he keeps telling you that that isn’t necessary, and that he’ll get you more if this one runs out, you still want this one to last. so smelling it on you now, it’s winding him down and turning him on all at the same time.

“missed you,” you wrap your arms around his neck. “how was it? did it go okay? why are you so tired? are you hurt?” you notice, only after you’re done, that you’re being overbearing so you shut up quickly. you know he doesn’t mind when you ask about him, but you don’t wanna add to any stress. 

“i’m okay now that i’m back.” he kisses your collarbone a few times, leaving a last, lingering one that you’re sure will bruise softly later. “what’s all this? you look gorgeous.”

“thank you,” you pull away just enough to start taking off his jujutsu tech uniform. just the jacket for now. “it’s for my very hard-working boyfriend who i can’t wait for to come home. i wanted to surprise you a little, you’ve been stressed and i’ve missed you.” it’s pretty obvious that you’ve missed him for longer than just the few hours his mission’s been going on for, you’ve hated the distance as much, if not more, than he has, and you need it to end. you need to be in satoru’s arms again.

“missed you too.” he lets go to shrug the jacket off so he’s left in a white undershirt and the black-blue pants, god he looks good. “any other surprises?” he teases, leaning down to kiss your lips. his exhaustion is evident even in his kisses the way he very softly parts your lips, he’s still standing too far away so you all but throw yourself into him, holding onto his shirt, your bodies clashing together. it’s everything you’ve needed for the past who-knows-how-long, and you’re sure it’s the same for him.

when you pull away, it’s because you can’t breathe, but you don’t get too far away, your head falling onto his chest. you’re forgetting something, you just can’t remember— oh, the food. “i made dinner!” you exclaim and the second you see him smile, hear him laugh, everything you’ve ever felt, every inkling of doubt or anger or stubbornness, means nothing because gojo satoru is yours. 

he does eventually get into more comfortable clothes, and you prepare plates for the both of you, leaving them on the kitchen island where you both usually eat if megumi’s not here, which he isn’t, thankfully. at least for now, you’d like to have some quiet time with satoru without any tension.

when he walks out of the bathroom in the most basic outfit known to mankind, you’re still so insanely enamoured, even if you’re sure he left his socks in your walk-in closet (something you warned him about a thousand times) and that his dirty clothes are definitely not in the laundry basket in your room (which you put here for him so he doesn’t need to go all the way to the laundry room) but the past few minutes, have reset your entire brain. it’s like you’re a teenager again, asking shoko if gojo would ever go for someone like you, for a non-sorcerer, for a monkey, as geto used to call you. 

satoru presses a kiss to your head before taking a quick sniff of the pots. “god, that smells good, what is it?” you show him the made plate, a healthy meal combined from all your favorite things that your grandmother used to cook. your mother taught you the basics but your grams is the one who really gave you the hard hitting meals, the ones you make for your boyfriend that he goes crazy for. “i will never get tired of this.” he raves, referring to your cooking. and it honest to god makes you blush. you feel the heat rising all the way up to your face and will it to go away. you will not blush in front of your boyfriend just because he complimented you! especially because he’ll notice right away with how flustered you get.

you both sit down to eat. “so? how was it?”

he shrugs, looking down at his plate. you won’t push after this, you’ve already asked three times, but you want to make sure nothing happened. “they asked me to find geto.” your fork dropping onto the plate silences him immediately, it startles you. 

“they what?” you whisper, looking up at him, meeting his eyes. “you tried and you couldn’t kill him, ‘toru—”

“i can now. i know i can.” and you only slightly doubt it, because if he says he can then he can. you trust his instincts despite that feeling deep in your gut that says he’s loves geto too much to ever hurt him. “i almost found him today but he just sent sorcerers and curses— it was a lot to handle alone, but i did.” you’re proud of him, you know it can’t be easy to kill sorcerers like himself, but if they’re working with geto on his plan, they need to die. “i’m sorry i didn’t tell you.”

you sigh, “it’s okay, i know i haven’t been the most approachable and i can’t believe i let it get to this. i love you, okay? i don’t want you to go save lives and have to come home to constant fights—”

“it’s my fault.” your eyebrows furrow, “i knew about the sug— geto mission a while ago and it’s been messing with my head. i’m sorry.” 

of course he did. of course he is. you smile sadly, placing your hand on top of his on the table. he looks down at it, then intertwined your fingers. “promise we’re okay now?”

a beat, before, “promise.”

megumi texts you that gojo is acting weird the next week. you smile, thinking it means he’s happier, but it doesn’t seem so. his his next text, in response to your ‘in what way’, is ‘just weird, he’s yelling at the third grade sorcerers which isn’t like him. he had a meeting with the higher ups today, maybe that’s why’.

it hurts to know your attempt to smooth things over only worked for when he’s home because the past week, since you two made up, he’s been nothing but incredibly sweet and he spends every night in bed with you. albeit, you’ve been cooking daily so maybe that helps raise his mood significantly, but to know he’s shouting at kids? doesn’t make sense.

you tell megs that he should come over for sunday dinner tonight and it’s almost funny how long he’s typing then leaving the chat, then coming back. he settles for: ‘i don’t know’.

‘don’t worry, it’ll be great.’ he agrees immediately after than you get started on a quick dinner, ramen is supposed to be easy but when you aren’t buying it already made in a packet, you can’t seem to get the hang of it. the spices are sometimes wrong, there’s not enough brother, the noodles aren’t cooked enough or you got the wrong brand— and of course gojo is never any help, the man eats almost everything, so unless it isn’t expired or completely inedible, he thinks it’s ‘great’.

but you make the ramen anyway, praying it turns out well made. when it’s five, gojo walks through the door, a smile on his face. “hey, baby.” he calls out, throwing his shoes off and you bite your tongue as he walks over to you, kissing your hair. “food?”

“yeah! we gotta wait for megs though, why didn’t you bring him with you?” you ask, a little confused. megs always rides with gojo for sunday dinner, maybe he wanted to hang out with his friends a little longer. 

“shit, we’re doing that tonight?” your lips part in shock as you stare up at him. “why didn’t you tell me? shit, shit, i didn’t offer to take him!”

“are you serious? oh my god, he probably hates me right now, i can’t believe i forgot to tell you.” you snatch your phone off the counter, pressing his contact, when he picks up, you couldn’t sound more panicked if you tried. “megumi! i totally forgot—”

“i figured, we can do it next time—”

“no, no, i just didn’t tell gojo, but i swear i made food and everything. i’ll text ijichi to pass by you now, okay? i’m so sorry, honey.” 

“oh— that’s, it’s okay. thank you.” 

“see you in twenty!” you hang up, a hand on your chest. that could’ve gone in a whole different direction and you wouldn’t have even blamed him. megumi’s been through a whole lot of abandonment without you adding yourself to the mix. not that you mean that much to him, but you would never dream of hurting him, he’s gone through enough.

you face gojo, a small smile on his face. “what?”

“what?” he mirrors.

“why are you looking at me like that?”

“like what?”

“like that!” you gush, slapping his shoulder.

“you’re just so good to him,” he confesses, his eyes still covered by that damn blindfold but you know he’s looking into yours, “sometimes better than me.”

you frown, stepping closer, both hands holding onto the jacket to pull him closer, kissing him. his hands find your waist but you don’t let it get past that, pulling away to reassure him. “megumi loves you, ‘toru. no one can ever beat that.” he smiles. “but i sure as hell will try.” you tease, walking away quickly before he slaps your ass, causing you to squeal. “go change!” he does, you text your dear friend, ijichi, to please get megs.

when there’s a knock on the door, finally, you pull away from gojo’s grip on your waist and hold over your lips. megumi waves once when you open the door, mumbling a ‘hey’. and you think you might just explode. you haven’t seen him in ages since you don’t ever go by jujutsu tech, and just texting isn’t enough. which is why you pull him in for a rough hug. it’s so alarming that satoru walks up to the both of you. “megumi-kan, come in.” he greets him and when you finally pull away, he does.

satoru closes the door behind the two of you, megumi shakes gojo’s hand. “gojo-sensei.” no matter how many times you tell megumi to just call gojo by his name, he refuses to, and you honestly think it’s some messed up trauma response. it hurts to think about, megumi is polite, sure, but not to this extent, he’s known gojo since he was four, he should be more than gojo-sensei now but some things never change.  and gojo doesn’t seem to mind that much, in fact, it’s obvious, if only to you, that he respects him all the more for it. the both of you walk to the kitchen, gojo following behind, “thank you for inviting me,” megs says to you this time. “you know i could’ve waited till you’re settled in.”

you shake your head comfortable, “we’re okay, megs, don’t worry about us. we wanted to have dinner with you, c’mon, i made ramen.” if you were anyone else you might’ve missed the slight widening of his eyes before they return to their stoic state. as you walk away, you poke his shoulder, “i saw that!” as you walk back into the kitchen, you yell aloud, “just to let you know, i worked harder on it this time, i can feel it, it’s gonna be great!”

well, it’s something. you’re comfortable enough around megumi to try new recipes when he’s coming around but even this is too far. you don’t know what you did wrong but the ramen is questionable. the broth tasted fine, a little spicier than the young sorcerer is used to, but fine. the meat is spongy and you’re just sure this isn’t your fault. so are the noodles— this has to be because of the brand you’re using. moving into this house with gojo a year ago meant discovering the entire neighbourhood and the grocery stores so you’ve been experimenting with their noodles, this one is not it. 

“how’s school?” you ask, standing up to bring out the emergency dumplings you steamed, thank god. the second you place it on the table, both men are grabbing one. at least you made one thing well. 

“good,” he says after he’s swallowed, “not too many hard missions right now so they’re sending us on clean ups. we’ve been studying mostly, though.” now, that, you feel good about. knowing he’s practicing biology, chemistry, maths, it helps ease the knot in your stomach. 

“yeah?”

“yeah, it’s getting progressively harder but there’s only two months left anyway.”

“what grade are you now?”

“two.” wow. that’s… wow. how many 15 year olds are grade two sorcerers? it’s as much concerning as it is impressive. “i can’t be a grade one unless someone recommends me to the higher ups.”

megumi is a quiet kid, it took a long time for him to warm up to you and it's something you take a lot of pride in considering how much you love the man, but for him to outright tell you this without any prompting, it means it's been on his mind. though you wouldn't be able to tell by just looking at him because he looks just as uninterested as he did two seconds ago before uttering the words. though that doesn't deter you, you know megs enough to press just a little.

“i’m sure lots of people would love to, no?” you spare a glance at satoru, maybe he knows something you don't. well, he usually does when it comes to jujutsu. 

“i don't know, no one has yet, and it has to be a first grade or special grade. i just dont talk to enough of them to have someone recommend me.” this time you glare at your boyfriend, wanting him to say something. you’re trying to come up with anything in response but you know where your weaknesses lie and it’s jujutsu. 

“don’t worry,” you sigh when gojo just shovels more noodles into his mouth. “i’m sure it’ll happen eventually. just be careful, okay?” he nods and smiles for a second before it’s back to eating. you all talk about other stuff, all varying until you end up promising to go to the market together next sunday and you can all cook together. italian cuisine this time. 

once satoru puts on a movie, you pass one of the popcorn bowls to megs and the plate of almost toppling mochi to your obsessed boyfriend. “it’s really not healthy to eat this much mochi.” you start again for the thousandths time.

megumi quickly agrees, tells you he even had a couple at school today. “seriously? gojo satoru you are not—”

“oh come on! fushigoro, i don’t wanna hear another word from you, stop telling on me to my own wife!” then he faces you, a small pout on his face, “pleasee, it looks so good.” you would hope so, you made it yourself…

wife? his wife? you silently give him back his plate and glance at the younger man on your couch but he’s completely unfazed, just annoyed by gojo’s antics. not even trying to hide that he’s fazed, no he is unfazed as if he’s heard it a thousand times before. you’re apparently married and had no idea. 

it’s not that you don’t want to be, you’ve dreamt of it since before you went to university, but you gave up on that dream becoming a reality in the near future after you got with the world’s strongest sorcerer. gojo has so many responsibilities and you never want to add to that, so you’ve learned to just not ask about it. not that the two of you did and he’s shut it down, you’ve just taken it upon yourself to not bring it up— and honestly, it isn’t like he did either. you’ve been with satoru for two years, so you’re due for a proposal but you’re also aware it’s not in the cards for him right now so you haven’t exactly pushed for it.

you’re all relatively quiet except for the sparse commentary, you once yelled at the male lead, gojo was quick to defend him which meant you were mad at him for the duration of the movie. once it’s over, megumi is tired enough that you send him to the guest bedroom, gojo can take him tomorrow to school since he’s going anyway.

once megumi is inside his own room, you stand up quickly to put everything away and get ready in yours. you don’t know why you feel this slight awkwardness, but you do, and it’s making it hard to be alone with satoru right now. you don’t hate what happened, you’re just completely caught off guard and your emotions are all over the place. he catches your wrist before you leave the kitchen where the two of you were putting the plates away. “hey, what’s with the hurry?”

“just getting ready for bed, you’re probably tired too, and you have a long day tomorrow.” it’s a crap excuse because you know gojo doesn’t sleep for more than three hours a night, he’ll either stay up until five in the morning and then get those three hours in or he’ll go to bed with you, and that’s what’s been happening more often, and wake up in, most of the time, four hours. you know him sleeping for long periods of time is dangerous and so you don’t press the fact as much as you used to when you first got together. 

“tell me what’s wrong.” he insists and you just shrug, quickly taking your arm back and going into your room. when he follows, you’re already locking the bathroom door. slightly immature? yes, obviously. but you need to figure out your own feelings before talking to him. 

the load on your chest makes you take a long, hot shower. when you’re done, you wrap a towel around yourself then step out to your walk-in closet before walking on what you’re sure is an article of his clothing. you take a deep breath, remembering megs is here. and you’re trying to be better about being such a control freak, so you just pick them up and throw them in the laundry basket yourself and then change. 

you get on the bed, where satoru is sitting, “hey, baby,” he moves to grip your waist, “gonna tell me what’s wrong now?” you nod, facing him as you apply the last of your lotion onto your forearm. 

“there’s nothing wrong, i was just caught of guard. when you told megs that i’m you’re wife or whatever.” god, this is so much more embarrassing than you thought it would be. “so yeah.” you add when he’s silent for more than two seconds. if he doesn’t speak you’re pretty sure you'll only humiliate yourself further.

“did you not like it?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowing. when he’s at home, he usually puts on glasses, they’re a little more draining since they don’t cover as much as the blindfold does, but after many random fights that end with you being frustrated that you can’t tell what he’s thinking, you both agreed sunglasses are best. at least you can see the rest of his face. 

you’ve only seen his eyes a handful of times, if even that. one, because you know how draining it is for him to see everything without a filter and two, he gets exhausted pretty quickly without something covering him up. it’s maybe the worst curse you could’ve ever imagined would fall upon you, not being able to see the man you love’s eyes. you love satoru more than anyone else in the world and you can’t tell him you love him while looking into his eyes. you can’t hear the words from him with eye contact. 

you look down from the glasses. “it’s not that, ‘toru, you just didn’t tell me or— i don’t know, it’s just— we’re not, right? not married?”

his hooks your chin with his fingers, pulling your face up. even if you can’t see his eyes, he can see yours. behind those opaque glasses, gojo sees everything, he sees you, your pain, your thoughts. “do you want to be?”

“you’re embarrassing me,” you whine, shaking your head. he laughs, pulling you in for a kiss, his hand is on your cheek, the other pulling you in by your waist and you can’t even move your hands. you didn’t expect this. when he deepens it, you pull away for a second, moan out his name, he smiles into the next kiss before moving to say, slowly,

“marry me, baby.” 

your eyes hoot open and shake your head. “you’re— what?”

“marry me. i love you, and i’ll love you forever, so why can’t forever start today?” despite what anyone will say in the coming years, you love gojo so much in this moment that the fact that you’re both in bed, that there isn’t a ring, that it’s so unplanned, doesn’t even matter. because he’s here, and you’re kissing him. because when you tell him after that your one rule was that if you’re married he can’t throw his dirty laundry everywhere, he stops immediately. because the fifteen-year-old in the room next to yours saw something in gojo, saw someone worth making proud, saw someone he loves. because you love him just as much, if not more, than he does you.

meanwhile, in the room next to yours, “hey,” megumi whispers into his phone. he’s exhausted, fighting to keep his eyes open but it doesn’t matter because she called, and he’s never put anything above her since the moment he met her despite not even knowing her back then. so he breathes out a greeting, closes his eyes for a second and then shoots them back open because whatever she says can’t be missed. he can’t miss it.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to call you so late, i just wanted to let you know that i was talking with nanami-sensei, and he mentioned seeing you train with satoru earlier!” he doesn’t know what to say. is this supposed to be a good thing? why does it matter if nanami’s seen him? “if he thinks you’re strong enough, he might recommend you to be a first grade.”

“how’d you know…”

“how’d i know what? wait, you’ve been trying to be a first grade? megs, i had no idea! that’s so great, i just thought you deserve it more than anyone else i know so, yeah, but i mean, i had no idea you were asking around or anything.”

“thank you.”

“of course! i mean, i haven’t done anything, and i’m not sure if he will yet, maybe he has to see you in action— wait, i’ll see if you can both go on a mission together, i can talk to him about it! i mean, i don’t know if he’s be free but i’m sure he would love to!”

“you don’t have to do all of this,” he sighs. because it’s ruining him. her kindness is one of the things megumi fell for, but if she keeps pushing it onto him, he might do something stupid like tell her. “but thank you, really.”

“oh. okay, that’s okay, it’s nothing. sorry again for calling so late, good night.” she hangs up before he can say it back and he thinks he definitely screwed something up.

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